


Night Blooms

by iruusu



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, M/M, Magi Big Bang 2017, this is so self indulgent goodnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/pseuds/iruusu
Summary: While Judal doesn’t particularly want to help Kougyoku look after her flower shop, it’s only a matter of time before he finds himself working behind the counter. But when Sinbad, the handsome tattoo-artist from next door, always finds an excuse to pay a visit, Judal decides that the job might not be so bad after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my fic for the magi big bang :') i am going to be out of the country during the actual posting date so i am posting it today instead.
> 
> i spent all of exam season writing this lmao.. i really hope that you all enjoy it!! feedback is always appreciated ♡

The flower shop was simple and quaint, elegant and timeless for its new status, standing at the corner of a city block in the heart of town. It was painted in organic hues, with no shortage of brilliant flowers lining the exterior with an arrangement of pots and basins of flowers. There was a long, subtly tinted windowpane at the front, plain and bare but for the name engraved in bold print upon the polished glass: _“Kou Flowers.”_

(Judal had admonished Kougyoku for her lack of creativity, but she insisted that it was important to keep the family in the name of her newly erected business. Judal had laughed in agreement, since it was the Ren family who had paid for this endeavor, after all.)

The interior of the shop hardly differed from the exterior. It was similarly bright, lined with colorful flowers against each lovingly painted wall (lovingly only on Kougyoku’s part, Judal had _loathed_ the task), little pots of flowers positioned neatly at each table, scattered across every inch of the sparkling hardwood floor, hanging even from the ceiling in ornate little pots. Judal was worried that he might trip over one and evoke Kougyoku’s wrath, but he had been fortunate so far as to avoid that terrible fate.

The place was a perfect fit for Kougyoku, who seemed completely in her element in her cute little embroidered apron, tending to soil and flowers and other positively _domestic_ tasks of which Judal wanted no part. And yet, he was here, for a job of all things (the thought alone made his nose wrinkle, despite the pleasant smell of the flowers) and he would just have to make do with it.

Though, that didn’t mean he fit in, or that he was well-equipped for this in any sense of the word. Judal stuck out like a sore thumb in Kougyoku’s polished little shop, with his tight-fitting black clothes, with his gaunt frame and his too-long dark hair. Judal looked like a ghost against all of the pretty colors, and yet Kougyoku was beaming at him just for being there. As much as he tried, Judal found it hard to disappoint her.

“You chose the worst job, you know that, hag?” Judal grumbled, already nearing the point of exhaustion without even lifting a finger. It wasn’t even noon, and Judal was already looking forward to a long nap in the flowerbeds—though Kougyoku had told him that it wasn’t the sort of bed that he was thinking of. “You should’ve picked something easier. Or less boring.”

“This _is_ easy! It isn’t so bad,” Kougyoku insisted, painted lips tugged into a frown. “It’s easy enough. And besides,” she said, sparing a moment to arrange the bouquet in her arms, as if to gently comfort it from Judal’s harsh words. “Flowers are so pretty.”

“Hm,” said Judal as he approached, extending a hand to examine a delicate pink petal. Upon noticing an insect perched upon it, Judal’s expression immediately soured, and he flicked the thing away with a look of complete disgust. “I don’t want to play around in the _dirt_ for a living.”

It wasn’t as though Judal would have any idea of what that was like. He had lived a very comfortable life under the infamous Ren family for as long as he could remember, save for a few sour memories from his early years of childhood. Judal did not ever work, for he didn’t have to, and that was reason enough to spend his days lounging around with absolutely _nothing_ to do. Judal did not care for flowers unless they were peach blossoms, and here, there were none of those. He could hardly recall why he’d come here in the first place.

“This won’t be forever Judal,” Kougyoku insisted. “I promise! I just need you to help fill in the shifts until I can find qualified employees.”

Judal scoffed, rose-colored eyes darting away with a look of disdain. “Who’s gonna want to work here? You don’t know the first thing about running a business.”

“That doesn’t matter!” she shrieked, pitched raised with heightened exasperation and a blush as deep as the shade of her hair. “All that I need is for you to watch the store and water the plants and be nice to the customers, only for a few weeks!” When he did not budge, she conceded, “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you whatever you want, Judal, it’s just for a little while. Please?”

Ah. _This_ was why he had come to her aid.

As Judal stared at her, he couldn’t quite decide whether or not the tears budding at the corners of her eyes were forced. But that was no matter. As much as he hated to admit it, Judal was reminded, somewhere in the back of his mind, of all the years Kougyoku had spent at his side, unwavering and loyal, when she easily had the status to look elsewhere. He was reminded of how she had called him her first friend when no one else would, when she always stood up for him, and, worse yet, of how her family had taken him in and treated him as one of their own. Judal looked back at her hopeful expression, at roseate eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and could not help but sigh.

Judal really was too nice.

 _“Fine,”_ he sighed after a while, watching with a roll of his eyes how she brightened at the simple word, of how she straightened her back and all the teary redness fled her cheeks in less than an instant. Judal knew that he was a fool, but it was better to aid her now than to suffer from his foolish guilt in the days to come. Plus, it was only a few weeks. He could bear with that, and then Judal would be back to lounging on a bed of plush pillows as if this had never happened to begin with. “When do you need me to start?”

Still, Judal didn’t feel _too_ cheated in the face of how his words made her face light up. Kougyoku said nothing as she rummaged through cabinets and drawers, though the way she bounced spoke for her, and then with an exclamation of victory she flitted back over to him. In her hands was the offending article: an apron. It was a deep burgundy in hue, delicately embroidered with sparse ornamentation on the front, and absolutely nothing like the clothing Judal usually wore.

“Can you start right now?”

Judal allowed himself a long, suffering sigh. “I _guess.”_

With a saccharine smile, Kougyoku stretched up onto her tiptoes and slipped the apron over his head, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. “It looks so cute on you!”

“Yeah, well,” Judal scoffed, crossing his arms, “everything looks cute on me.”

“It’s just for a few weeks,” she promised with a sympathetic smile as she stepped around behind him to tie the apron, brushing his long braid to the side as she did. “Who knows? Maybe you might even enjoy it.”

With a defeated sigh, Judal knew immediately that he most certainly would not.

* * *

Time didn’t pass as terribly as Judal thought it would, working in Kougyoku’s flower shop. It was kind of easy, and business came and went easily enough. Judal was not really a people person, but he could feign a smile well enough to keep customers content, and it had hardly taken Judal long to learn the ropes of keeping a garden. Had it been solely to please Kougyoku he would've done a terrible job, just to irritate her, but then she had looked at him with those stupid tears in her eyes, so he took it seriously enough.

It was much to Kougyoku's chagrin that Judal really turned out to have a knack for tending to the flowers. While he still did not like to dirty his hands—much less callus them—nor did he really enjoy the work, he was good at it. It had frustrated Kougyoku at first, as her thumb was not quite as green as she'd hoped it would be, but it soon became a blessing. Judal could now be left in charge of the flowers whenever Kougyoku decided to leave—which, apparently, was a lot.

By the end of the week, Kougyoku trusted Judal enough to look after the shop without her. If he were quite honest with himself, it really wasn't so bad. Business was rather slow, so he had plenty of time to himself, and he probably shouldn't have been so nonplussed because of that, but it was peaceful and quiet and _nice_. The flowers were good company; they did not annoy him in any way, and they were beautiful. Either way, Judal would still have plenty complaining to do when Kougyoku returned.

There was a soft chime when the door came open, marking the official end to Judal's peace and quiet. Judal turned to it with a scowl (which was probably poor etiquette for an employee) but the moment his eyes fell upon the figure at the doorway, everything about his countenance changed.

The man who stood before Judal was worlds apart from the demure little old ladies who had regularly wandered into the shop (often commenting with a smile that Judal was “such a sweet girl,” much to his chagrin). The man was easily taller than Judal with shoulders twice as broad, a dazzling smile, and warm golden eyes that softened its frustrating arrogance. Judal studied him for a moment, noting the dark ink of tattoos that wound and swirled in a thick mosaic of contrasting design around his bare arms and shoulders, and swallowed. Judal wasn’t sure if he was nervous or whether the warm feeling in his stomach represented something _very_ different.

"It isn’t polite to stare," the man said, and Judal's features lost their momentary reverence, slipping easily back into a sneer.

"It’s not my job to be polite."

"A 'hello' would’ve been nice, though."

Judal's features twisted, and all he could manage was a huff of mild irritation. "Do you want flowers or not?"

The man laughed, and it was surprisingly warm and heartening for how intimidating he appeared, and for half of a second Judal almost wished he hadn't been so bitter. The sentiment left almost as quickly as it had come.

"Yeah. Do you have any roses here?"

It was a stupid question; what sort of flower shop didn't grow roses? "Of course we do, idiot," Judal grumbled, and turned to fetch the bouquet from behind him. Of course, he selected the thorniest of the bunch, solely out of spite.

The man was still looking at him when Judal turned back around. “This bouquet is very lovely,” he commented. It was simple, roses complemented by sprigs of baby’s breath scattered throughout. He was right, though. It _was_ lovely. Judal almost piped up to agree with him, but then the man added, “I can see the resemblance.”

Ah. Judal had not been expecting that.  
  
Feeling the heat of a blush as it rose to his cheeks, Judal studied the man’s features for a moment, searching for the arrogance beneath the strange sincerity in his words, and then gave an exasperated sigh when he could not find it. “Are you going to pay or what?"

The man flashed him another one of those dazzling grins. “Of course.” Judal watched silently as the man fumbled with his wallet, then set it on the counter as he presented him with the designated amount. Judal snatched it from his hands and put it into the register, flowers still cradled almost protectively into one arm (though he still hated the stupid job) until, finally, he passed the bouquet into the customer’s waiting arms.

“Who are the flowers for?” Judal asked. He couldn't help that his curiosity had gotten the better of him, even though it was a little silly to ask. He didn't usually try to make conversation with customers for he knew that his tongue could give a lashing that would make anyone cower, but he couldn't help it. He was curious. Surely, a man like this would have a girlfriend he was rushing home to…

“What?”

Judal felt his cheeks flare as the man smiled, knowing full and well what Judal had asked, but torturing him anyways. Judal could see the mischief in his eyes and it made him clench his fists behind the counter. “The flowers,” he said again. “Who are they for?”

“Ah,” said the man, after apparently deciding that Judal had suffered enough.

“No one in particular. I just think that they brighten the parlor.”

The words made Judal scoff. What sort of idiot decorated a tattoo parlor with—  
  
He couldn’t have been talking about the tattoo parlor next door, could he? The one that had been the bane of Judal’s existence in the days since they had opened?

Narrowing his eyes in belated realization, Judal just _knew_ that must’ve been the one.

Judal had known full and well of the tattoo parlor that stood adjacent to the flower shop, darkening what would've otherwise been a rather pleasant corner of town. It contrasted almost laughably with their quaint little shop, painted in monotone hues with neon signs in the window, and its patrons were even worse, scaring away many a customer, and for good reason. Judal always walked a little faster when he had to pass by, and maybe that was a little prejudiced of him but Judal had been catcalled many a time in the past and he was not looking forward to a repeat of those painful memories.

It was a vast understatement to say that he just _knew_ about it.

“The one next door?” asked Judal, composure straining his voice. “That's _yours?”_

“Yeah,” he laughed, perhaps a little nervously at the hostility in Judal’s words. “That’s mine. I was kinda surprised to see that someone bought the place next door, I’ve been there for years and we’ve never had anyone in here.”

“Yeah,” said Judal. “I can see why.”  
  
The man must've been immune to the bite in Judal’s words, for instead of leaving as Judal so _wished_ that he would (though, Judal wouldn't mind having to look at him a little longer), he offered a hand with another one of those stupid, dazzling smiles. “I’m Sinbad. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other around here.”

“I guess so.” Judal forced a bitter smile, and though his face was blatantly feigned the man—Sinbad’s?—smile didn't falter. Judal took the large, calloused hand into his small one, and tried to lock Sinbad’s hand in a crushing grip just out of spite, but he was just so strong that Judal only managed to strain his own hand in the process. “I’m Judal,” he muttered, defeated. “It's such a pleasure to meet you.”

It really wasn’t.

But when Judal looked up at Sinbad, really looked at him, studied the warm glow of his eyes and the raw sincerity of his smile, felt the way he lightly squeezed Judal’s hand in greeting, he could almost trick himself into believing that it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will be every sunday ♡ well, maybe not next sunday, because I will be in japan, but every sunday after that :')


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost forgot to update bc timezones are so fucked up here mdnsksbsjs please leave a comment they mean very much to me

 

Judal couldn't have anticipated just how much of Sinbad he would have seen in the days that followed. Two weeks had passed, and Judal did not think there was a day that went by without seeing the idiot, whether he came in for another bouquet (much too quickly, the flowers should've lasted for at least a week) or simply met Judal in passing, it was rare that a day passed without them crossing paths in some sort of way. It was to the point where Judal might worry if he didn't see Sinbad often enough—not that he cared, of course.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t often that Judal caught Sinbad without that dumb notebook balanced in his hands. He seemed to take it everywhere with him, always pausing to scribble in it when he came into the flower shop or when he was running errands; it made Judal scoff. Sinbad could try all that he wanted to seem like a tortured artist but he was far too charismatic to seem anything less than charming.

“How’s work been going?”

Judal’s lip curled into a sneer at the question, brows drawn together in a frown. “It’s been alright.” Kougyoku shouldn't have even asked. She was hardly around anymore, and her little project had become his responsibility more than anything else. He should've called her on it long ago, but Judal didn't mind it too much. It was good to have her in his debt, anyways.

But that wasn't what had him so agitated.

“It doesn't look alright,” said Kougyoku, laughing softly under her breath at the way he seemed to pout in dissatisfaction, plush lower lip puffed out in his momentary disdain. “Is something bothering you?”

“No,” Judal muttered under his breath. “Nothing happened.”

“If you insist,” Kougyoku said with a smile, although the way that he fidgeted was painfully obvious, Judal knew. The way that he chewed at his lip, the way that he wrung his pale hands together in restless agitation. It was obvious that there was something under his skin, but if Kougyoku wasn't going to comment further upon it, then Judal would've been a fool to elaborate.

“What's this?” she asked, picking up a discarded wallet that had been left on the counter. “Did someone leave this here?”  
  
Judal looked back at her, features placid only for a moment of not understanding, and then, scarlet eyes went wide as he did.

“Fuck,” slipped out before Judal even realized that it had. He came forward and looked at the thing, studied the impressively fine leather, scuffed with faded ink and wear. Judal took it into his hands, and his delicate nose wrinkled with disgust. “That idiot—”

“What idiot?”

Judal answered with an exasperated groan, throwing a hand up in the air. “That asshole from next door! The tattoo guy. He’s so stupid,” Judal complained, pinching the bridge of his nose with frustration.

Judal was almost certain that that idiot Sinbad had left it there intentionally during his last visit, just to torment him, or perhaps to see him again. But there was no reason for him to want that, unless he just wanted to tease Judal again. For a moment, Judal recalled how that idiot had said he was lovely, like a bouquet of fresh roses, and then immediately swallowed the thought.

“The tattoo guy?” Kougyoku asked, thin eyebrow arched as she tried to understand. And then there was an “ah” of realization, and she nodded in answer. “Oh, I know who you're talking about! Purple hair, right? I've seen him around a few times.” With a playful smile, she added, “he's cute.”

“You have a boyfriend,” Judal huffed. “Keep your dumb opinions to yourself.”

“But I have eyes, too,” she retorted, hands set on her hips with a frown. “Anyway, you should go over and take it to him.” Kougyoku waved a hand, dismissing him. “Before he accuses you of stealing, or something.”

“I’m not your maid, hag,” he muttered, shoving the wallet in her direction. Judal was scowling at just the thought of that smug (not handsome) face, that cocky (not charming) smile. Going over to that tattoo parlor was a trap, most definitely, for Judal knew that he would drown in Sinbad’s stupid, dazzling eyes if he gazed into them for even another second. “Take it to him yourself.”

“But you are my employee,” she insisted, pushing the extended wallet gently back towards him, “and I asked you to. Besides, I’ve never spoken to him before. Maybe he’ll appreciate a familiar face.” Kougyoku was smiling at him so sweetly now, and Judal knew that she wanted more out of him than to simply return the wallet. Curse her, to know his type in men (even if he wasn't very subtle about it to begin with). She waved her hand again, as if his presence before her was a burden, and Judal groaned.

“You can be such a bitch sometimes,” he grumbled, snatching the stupid wallet as he turned his back on her. “Fine.”

“You'll thank me later,” Kougyoku promised, and Judal could hear her blow him an affectionate kiss even as he walked out the door.

As far as a dingy tattoo parlor went, Judal supposed that “Sinful Ink” was not the most disgusting place that he had ever seen. The name was laughably stupid, just like that idiot Sinbad himself, but it didn't look terrible. As much as Judal complained about it being there the exterior looked polished and elegant, windows tinted too dark to see inside (probably against government regulation, too), but the outdoor display was minimalistic and hardly as trashy as Judal had really anticipated. That didn't mean he was at all happy to walk in.

The parlor’s interior was not much different. Smooth, streamlined and modern, with black walls and dimmed lights, contributing to the mellow atmosphere that the establishment maintained. Just as Sinbad had promised, there was the occasional rose and sprig of baby’s breath decorating the shelves and walls. Everything looked clean enough, enough so that Judal didn't feel the need to scrub his skin with disgust and run for one of those flowery hand sanitizers Kougyoku always left lying around the shop. Nevertheless, Judal wanted nothing more than to slip away as quickly as he had come.

“Is there something I can help you with?”  
  
Those words, laced with irritation, were most definitely not the of the same low, warm voice that he’d spoken with earlier in the day. It hadn't occurred to Judal that there would be other people working here until he turned around. He spared only a moment to study the pale hair, the dark eyes, the stark red tattoos winding like patchwork around lightly freckled forearms before realizing that he was expected to answer.

“Oh,” said Judal, with utmost intelligence as his mind blanked on anything else to say. “Uh…”

“We’re closing soon… Judal,” was the flat response, dark eyes narrowed and peering at the nametag on his chest. Judal realized, belatedly, that he was still wearing his embroidered, flowery apron, and felt the embarrassment blazing in his pale cheeks. “If you want a tattoo or something—”

“No, no,” Judal quickly assured, fervently shaking his head. He would die before ever desecrating his pale, unblemished skin with something as classless as a tattoo. “Nothing like that. Uh, your friend left his wallet next door. Sinbad, I think.”

The man raised a pale eyebrow when Judal held it out as proof, extended the old, weathered wallet for the man to examine. The intensity slipped from his features as he sighed in recognition.

“Yeah, that’s his,” he said. “I’ll give it back to him for you.”

Judal knew that it was silly and he cursed himself for even thinking such a thing, but he was almost disappointed to think that he wouldn’t be seeing that idiot Sinbad again. Judal had loathed him, of course, had loathed every second of their meeting, had wished the idiot never walked into his (his?) flower shop, but then again, he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get another look into those dazzling golden eyes.

“Give what back to me, Ja’far?”

Perhaps Judal’s prayers had only cursed him in the end, for it was then that Sinbad emerged from around the back, tired frown shifting into an easy smile the moment he laid eyes on Judal. Judal tried hard not to blush under his gaze.

“You left this next door,” Judal grumbled, holding the thing out to Sinbad but not really looking at him, deciding that it was safer to look at his feet instead. “Your wallet.”

“Ah,” said Sinbad, feigning surprise. “I didn't even notice. Thank you for bringing it to me,” he said, flashing Judal a knowing wink, lips curved into a smug smile. Judal rolled his eyes at him.

“What were you doing at a flower shop, Sin?” The other man, Ja’far asked, eyebrow arched in a state of slight disbelief.

“Buying flowers,” said Sinbad, as though it were obvious. “Didn't you notice?”  
  
“You've never been much for flowers,” Ja’far commented, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I wonder what could be behind this sudden change of heart.” The way he pointedly directed his gaze to Judal was painfully obvious, a look so cold that it made Judal swallow in nervous anticipation. He didn't even care for Sinbad, they’d just met, he had nothing to worry about. But then there was the way that he’d winked at him, and that smile…

Sinbad managed a nervous laugh as he averted his gaze, but even nervous his laugh was so warm and deep and nice, a laugh that set butterflies ablaze in Judal’s stomach (even if it was an embarrassed one). “Can you give us a minute, Ja’far? There's something I need to talk to Judal about.”

There was a long, knowing sigh, and Ja’far pointedly rolled his eyes in frustration. “Fine. I have some things to take care of in the back, anyways.”

With Ja’far gone, all of Sinbad’s attention was on Judal again, which Judal couldn't quite decide if he liked. “Thank you for bringing this,” he said with a smile that seemed stupidly genuine as he finally took it from Judal’s hands. Perhaps Judal was only deluding himself but he could've sworn that when Sinbad’s fingers brushed against his own, they lingered for just longer than necessary, just long enough for Judal to feel the warmth beneath the worn pads of his fingertips. Quickly, Sinbad finessed the leather within his fingers before sticking it into his back pocket. “It was very kind of you to do so.”

“You left it on purpose,” Judal grumbled. “No one with that much cash in their wallet just leaves it lying around.”

“That's fair,” said Sinbad, mischief sparkling in his golden eyes. “But you brought it for me anyways.”

Judal scoffed, crossing pale arms over his chest as he tore his gaze away. “I should've kept it. I really could've used that money.” He didn’t really need it. Judal was wealthy and comfortable as he was, so stolen money didn’t appeal to him as much as it would anyone else, but still. He could have taken it if he wanted to, but Sinbad hardly seemed to mind.

“You didn't, though,” he countered, lips growing into a smile as Judal’s curved into a frown. “I appreciate it.”

Rolling his eyes, Judal waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m no saint, or whatever, so don’t worry about it.” He turned on his heel, already formulating an escape plan in his mind, “so I guess I’ll get going then—”

“Wait,” said Sinbad, but that wasn’t what stopped Judal in his tracks. What really stopped him was the hand that gently grasped his arm, and Judal could feel the rough, calloused fingers against the smooth pale of his skin, a feeling that he wasn’t quite ready for. Judal whirled around, half out of surprise and half out of indignance. He opened his mouth to spit something back at the man but it was Sinbad who spoke first when he said, “let me repay you.”

Ah. There it was.

Judal couldn’t help it when he rolled his eyes, shoving the hand off of him no matter how nice it may have felt, lips curled back into a sneer. “Repay me? I don’t need money. Take your fat wallet somewhere else.”

“I didn’t mean money,” said Sinbad with a coy smile, one that sent a lingering shiver up Judal’s spine. And then, belatedly, came wide-eyed realization.

“A-Are you asking me out?”

Perhaps Judal could’ve asked with more tact, and he certainly wished that he had when Sinbad met him with a laugh, but it was so warm and kind and completely free of bitterness, enough so that it melted away all of the frustration in Judal’s stupid heart.

“Yeah,” said Sinbad, smiling still. “I guess that I am.”

At this, Judal did not know how to react. He did not know how to school his features into anything but a look of raw disbelief, eyes gone wide and cheeks gone red as he tried to process it. Sinbad was, for whatever reason, asking him out. Judal had been asked out before, once or twice, but that was when he was younger, it hadn’t meant anything back then. But this, clearly, mattered. Judal didn’t know what to say. Only moments ago he’d wanted to pound that stupid dazzling smile off of that stupid handsome face but now the feeling tightening in his chest was very, very different from aggression.

“Uh,” Judal managed, unable to function through the heat burning in his cheeks, making his head spin as he tried to process it.

“Maybe dinner?” Sinbad asked, helping Judal along. “How about Saturday?”

Somehow, Judal powered through his state of disbelief to shake his head with a huff of deep offense. “I-I haven’t even said yes, idiot!” A dinner date for a first date was not inherently malicious, but Judal could already tell that Sinbad was not the sort of man to take his dates home without taking something for himself first. He could see the way that Sinbad looked at him, and although he was dazzling Judal was not blind enough to fall for that. What an idiot, to assume things of Judal that way. Judal was determined not to fall for it.

“Whatever you think… this is,” Judal spat, as though each syllable were dripping with acid, “you’re wrong. I’m not like that. I’m not that easy. You’re going to have to try harder than that.” And yet Sinbad’s smile didn’t falter, only glowed with something coy yet playful all the same, and Judal felt his resolve growing weaker and weaker with each second of gazing into his smile. “I should be going,” he said quickly, long braid whirling behind him as he turned for the second time, afraid of what would become of his resolve if he looked back for any longer. “Goodnight.”

Judal could hear the smile in Sinbad’s words as he said, “goodnight, Judal,” but there was a sigh in them too, and Judal tried not to think of the regret that already began bubbling in his chest at what he’d done. Judal promptly shoved such foolish thoughts out of his mind as he shook his head, threw open the door, and walked out in spite of his burning blush.

* * *

 

Judal was completely certain that he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Why did I say that?” he asked aloud from where he laid sprawled across the couch, long milky limbs tangled amongst all the plush red cushions. “Why did I _say that?”_

“I’m sure it isn't as bad as you think,” Kougyoku assured as she approached from the kitchen, platter of sliced peaches balancing in her hands. She set it down on the coffee table and lightly pet Judal’s unbound hair in what she hoped was a comforting manner, but from the way Judal squirmed, he clearly disagreed with. “Don't worry about it.”

“I shouldn't have said no,” Judal groaned as he reached over and popped a peach slice into his mouth. As comforting as the taste was, even that could not calm his aching regret. “I can't believe I denied him.” Judal doubted anyone had ever turned Sinbad down before. With the way he looked, anyone who turned him down would have had to be be an absolute moron. Judal reluctantly accepted the new title.

“He’ll get over it,” Kougyoku mused, taking a peach slice for herself. “He’s cute. I’m sure he’ll find someone else.”

“You’re not helping!” Judal wailed, throwing the nearest pillow in her direction, which landed easily in her lap with a soft “oomph.” The last thing that Judal wanted was for Sinbad to find someone else, but he couldn't blame him if he did. Sinbad had been so incredibly kind to Judal, a gesture he hadn't often known from other men, and in turn all Judal had shown him was cruelty. How could he have been such an idiot to treat Sinbad that way? How could Judal have been such a fool?

“He hates me,” Judal complained, softly this time as he pulled up another pillow and buried his face into it, words growing muddled and soft. “He hates me and it's all my fault.”

“Do you like him?” Kougyoku asked, and Judal could just hear the thinly veiled excitement in her words, could just see how her eyes sparkled in excitement, even if he could not see her face.

Judal shot up in an instant, shoving his pillow to the side, sitting up with tousled hair and watery, reddening eyes. “What?”

“You heard me,” she asked, and sure enough when Judal sat up and looked at her there was a sparkle in her eyes that made him scowl. She said it again, even though he had clearly heard her the first time. “Do you like him?”

Judal scoffed. “I don’t know, hag. It’s only been a day.”

“I knew I liked Alibaba from the first day.”

“Because you’re a hopelessly romantic sap,” Judal complained, rolling his eyes, “and I’m not.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Yeah, Judal thought to himself. There was a reason for that.

With an irritated huff, Judal promptly stood up and snatched the platter of peaches for himself, and said, “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“Alright,” said Kougyoku, smiling even though he had already turned his back. “Sleep well.”

So he went to bed, as promised.But sleep that night was a restless one, not peaceful at all, most of it spent lying awake as Judal mulled over his thoughtless decisions. He was such an idiot. Judal, having spent so many days and weeks and months longing for affection and wondering if any of his stupid crushes might ever like him back, had pushed away the only one who ever did.

Judal didn't have a crush on Sinbad, though. No way.

But when Sinbad did not come in the next day, that night was sleepless too. And when he did not come in the day after that, Judal was certain that the insomnia would kill him if he waited long enough. He could have just gathered the nerve to walk into the tattoo parlor himself, but Judal was not about to seem as desperate as he actually was. That would have been far too embarrassing, even for him.

It was on the third day after Judal’s bumbling rejection that he saw Sinbad again. He entered much the same as he had last time, with the chime of the bell at the door, exuding confidence with every step, a confidence that created an air for itself around him. Like before, he was never without his smug smile, the glow in his eyes, as if the previous day’s events didn’t even matter at all.

Judal’s heart was pounding as he watched Sinbad walk up to the counter so easily, as if Judal had not just spent three sleepless nights on this stupid man.

“You’re back soon.”

“Yeah,” said Sinbad, smiling, voice low and yet light all the same, enough that Judal did not feel too wary in his presence. “The roses were starting to wilt.”

If properly cared for, a bouquet of roses should have been able to last a week without any significant signs of decay. Kougyoku had told him this, and Judal had gathered it himself from working in the shop. It had only been three days since Sinbad’s last purchase; the roses should have easily been able to last that long. Either Sinbad was very particular about his flowers, which he hardly seemed to be, or there was something more behind his visit.

“Oh,” said Judal, reluctant to ask anything more. “Will it be roses again?”  
  
Sinbad’s smile was like sunshine when it graced his lips, and Judal silently asked himself how he ever could’ve become so weak. “You know me too well.”

Despite the way his cheeks flared, Judal was grumbling to himself as he went to fetch the bouquet. This one, in comparison, was with fewer thorns than the last one had been. Judal decided that it was simply a coincidence, and that he certainly wasn’t going soft over a man he’d barely just met. “Here,” Judal muttered, passing the flowers over to him with careful hands. Silently, he couldn’t help but notice the way that Sinbad’s thumb just lightly grazed against his fingers in the exchange.

“Thanks,” said Sinbad, accepting the bouquet and cradling it in one arm while the other fished in his back pocket. Judal recognized the worn leather wallet that he pulled from it, leafing through dollar bills until he came upon the specified amount, handing it easily over to Judal. Judal took it from him, but instead of leading with the customary have a nice day, something else came from his mouth before he could manage to stop it.

“What did you mean, when we first met?”

“What?”

“You said,” Judal began, “that the roses reminded you of me. What did you mean?”

It took a moment for the realization to light up Sinbad’s eyes, and when it did, he softened his strong features with one of those stupidly charming smiles. “Ah,” he began, as the memory came back to him. “Roses are very lovely, of course, but I think their thorns are what make them so beautiful. After all,” he went on with a growing smile, “it’s impossible to love the petals without first loving the thorns.”

Perhaps it was something that Sinbad had said to everyone he fancied, or something corny that he’d read in a book once. But he was just so sincere, so genuine when he said it, Judal promptly decided that he really had made the worst decision of his life those three days ago.

“Oh,” Judal managed softly, under his breath. “I see.”

There wasn't any bitterness in Sinbad’s smile, not like the harshness that Judal had shown him in return for his kindness. But perhaps, if Sinbad did find the thorns as lovely as he said he did, then Judal had really been a fool to deny him.

“Yeah,” said Sinbad with a sheepish look of his own, free hand rubbing the back of his neck as he managed an awkward laugh. “If that's all—”

“Uh, wait,” said Judal quickly, coming around from behind the counter. Sinbad’s height was a pain in Judal’s neck as he looked up at him, lips pursed and cheeks flushed, painfully embarrassed at the weight of his own words. “I’m sorry.”

Sinbad’s eyes went a little wider then, shooting Judal a quizzical look. “What for?”

“For how I treated you,” said Judal, despite his cheeks burning. “I misjudged you the other night. It was stupid of me and I’m sorry but I changed my mind and I want to start over. I want to go out with you, Sinbad,” he finished, and then, realizing belatedly the weight of what he had said, quickly looked away. “If the offer is still open, I mean.”

The grin that broke out across Sinbad’s face when Judal looked up again was not something that he could have foreseen, not in a million years. “Yeah, of course it's still open,” he said, nodding in agreement, with a smile so blindingly bright that Judal almost felt the need to look away, but when Sinbad’s free hand took his own Judal was too paralyzed to move. “I’d love to go out with you, Judal.”

There was just something about the way that Sinbad said “Judal” that made his heart skip a beat. And then how he had said it, that he would love to go out with him, Judal was smiling even through his mortified flush. “Great,” he managed, and each new syllable required great effort on his part not to stumble over his words. “I’d really like that, too.”

“Is Saturday evening still alright with you?” Sinbad asked, eyes glowing with something altogether genuine that Judal hadn’t quite recalled seeing there before.

“Uh,” Judal began, “I’m not really a night person.” Yes, he was. Judal hated mornings, he hated waking at the crack of dawn. If the sun was up before he was, then there was just no way Judal was going to be able to drag himself out of bed. But going out at night with someone he’d just met was something that worried him even more; and besides, if Sinbad really wanted to go out with him, he wouldn’t mind if Judal didn’t go home with him after dinner. “But there's this coffee place near here that I really like. We can meet there sometime. Or whenever.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” said Sinbad with a smile, nodding enthusiastically. “I know the one, I can meet you there. We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, huh?” Judal asked, lips curling into the shadow of a smile at the thought. If Sinbad was going to be so gracious about it, then there was no reason for Judal to protest. “I like the sound of that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mdnaksnjasn this is kinda late bc im jetlagged pls forgive

It was raining, the afternoon that Sinbad and Judal finally met for coffee. They hadn’t planned it that way, of course, or Judal wouldn’t have put in the extra effort if he thought it might be ruined by the rain. Pale eyelids were painted in soft, reddish hues, and his lips and cheeks were much the same. Dark hair was braided more loosely than it usually was, tied lower down the curve of his back with longer strands falling in soft wisps around his face. Too long was spent deciding what to wear, even longer spent deciding upon the jewelry. But, shocking even himself, Judal had really tried, for once.

And then, there was the rain.

Of course Judal had brought an umbrella but that didn’t spare him entirely from it, not the ends of his hair or the backs of his legs, and Judal was so frustrated that it would just have to rain today, of all days.

Perhaps this was Judal’s punishment for being so cruel to Sinbad before. The man was still an idiot, of course. But Judal was starting to feel worse about it now, when even the elements seemed to condemn his choice of words.

After a while, though, Judal made it there in one piece, and his makeup was mostly still intact. It was a cute coffee shop, super cliche, but still nice. The interior was done in hues of warm brown, with the lights kept warm and low and an assortment of tables and chairs scattered neatly throughout. Sinbad wasn’t there yet to protest (but Judal had gotten the text confirming that he was, in fact, on his way, sent with a little red heart that made Judal’s cheeks flame) so, after purchasing a cup of tea, he elected for a cushiony seat away from the windows, cozy and away from bright lights. With his legs tucked to his side as he curled in on himself, Judal very much resembled an irritated, flustered, and slightly damp cat.

Perhaps Judal really was a fool for giving in so easily to Sinbad’s offer. He had tried so hard to be unflinching in his resolve, and yet here he was, waiting patiently for a date that he hadn't been on in years (had he ever even been on a real date, apart from silly ones in high school?) but this was different. Judal sighed, leaning against the arm of the chair and resting his head against his fist, cheeks puffed out only slightly as the nervousness began to really sink in.

“I thought that I might find you here.”

Judal had been so lost in thought that he didn’t even think to look up until he heard the voice come from above, that low, warm, honey coated voice that never failed to catch Judal’s attention.  
  
As he finally looked up, this was something very different than he had imagined.

It seemed that there was not a time when Sinbad wasn’t smiling, lips always curved gently upwards with a playful mischief in his eyes that balanced his harsh features with their warmth. Sinbad had always been attractive but Judal did not imagine that he would be one for refinement, certainly not like this. His long-sleeved button down had been rolled up to the elbows, showcasing the intricate tattoos winding up toned forearms, and top two buttons left undone to bare the tanned chest beneath. It seemed that, while not totally drenched, Sinbad had not been spared of the rain in its entirety either, for there was the occasional droplet glistening against his skin, a dampness that made violet hair glow under the low lights.

Judal couldn’t help but notice his heartbeat quicken in its pace, just at the sight of him. For once he felt as though he were underdressed, in his oversized sweater that slid off of one shoulder and a simple pair of black tights worn underneath. He’d worn some of Kougyoku’s gold just to comfort himself, but silently Judal did not think any amount of effort would ever compare to Sinbad’s effortless charm.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” said Judal with a wry smile, with a faint wobble in his voice, one that he couldn't quite conceal, allowing embarrassment to creep into his cheeks.

“What,” asked Sinbad, settling into the cushiony chair across from Judal with an easy sigh, a sound that made Judal feel to melt. “Did you really think I wouldn't show?”

Judal shrugged as he took a sip of his tea—it was supposed to be calming but Judal felt anything but calm—and glanced away. “I don't know,” he huffed. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.”

“Don’t worry, I would never pass up a date with you,” Sinbad assured, smiling. “I’d hate to miss seeing you look this beautiful.”

Judal went still at the words, spared a moment to absorb their weight, and then the pink came to his cheeks in the slow realization. It took him a moment to remember how to breathe. The flattery was probably something that Sinbad said to everyone, it was probably empty, probably just another piece of his charm. But, nonetheless, it made Judal’s chest warm with a feeling he didn't know he still had within him. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled, staring into the cup of tea balancing in his palms, “you don't look so bad yourself.”

The grin that spread across Sinbad’s features was warm and unrestrained, and when Judal dared to cast a glance back up at him, it was almost too much to bear. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, beaming. Judal almost wished he’d never spoken.

But it wasn’t a lie. Sinbad was very attractive. There was just something about him that had tremendous appeal, probably the same thing that attracted others to him. Judal wondered for a brief moment why Sinbad had even expressed any remote interest in him, when he easily could’ve had anyone he wanted. And yet, here they were, even after Judal had been so cruel to Sinbad. He couldn’t even begin to fathom it.

“I’m sorry that I was so… difficult,” Judal muttered, watching the colors swirl in his tea. “You’ve always been so nice to me and I kind of…”

“It’s alright,” Sinbad assured, taking Judal’s free hand into his own from across the table. “Don’t worry about it. I was being forward with you, anyways.”

“I don’t mind forward,” Judal insisted, though taking great comfort in the way that Sinbad rubbed circles into his hand, gently and with his thumb. “It’s just… it’s been a long time since I was on a date.”

“Really?” Sinbad asked, eyebrows gone up in surprise. “You’re so beautiful, I figured that you’d have people lining up to take you out on a date.”

Judal answered with a wry smile (and there was that word again; Judal couldn't tell whether the man was being genuine). “You would think so,” he scoffed. “To be honest, I haven’t been on a real date since high school. And, you know, those don't really work out.” Though, that hadn’t been very long ago, for Judal. Sinbad looked a fair bit older than he was, but Judal didn’t think that it was enough to make things awkward between them. Not awkward enough to warrant him mentioning it.

“High school? Really?”

The way he said it made Judal nod, rather sheepishly, but then Sinbad slowly lifted Judal’s hand and pressed a careful kiss to the back of it. The gesture made Judal straighten up in alarm, and nearly spilled his tea, but he recovered his composure the moment he found himself gazing back into Sinbad’s golden eyes.

“Well,” said Sinbad, smiling suggestively back at him, “I am very glad to have been your first real date.”

And with that, Judal felt all of his reservations easily slip away.

From talking to him, Judal found that Sinbad was a far more interesting person than he’d initially anticipated. He learned, first, that Sinbad liked his coffee with a fair amount of cream and sugar, and he thought that “bitterness was a taste reserved for alcohol,” just like Judal needed his tea to calm him of all the excitement in his daily routine. He learned that Sinbad did tattoos less because he had to and more because he wanted to, but a successful tenure as a businessman had left him with enough savings to earn his living however he wanted and still live comfortably because of it.

“Ja’far was so pissed off when I told him,” Sinbad chuckled at the memory, and although Judal’s encounters with Ja’far had not been quite so pleasant the way that Sinbad laughed was enough to make him smile in turn. “I told him I was leaving the company to be a tattoo artist. _A tattoo artist._ He looked at me like I had three heads,” Sinbad laughed again, “but at least he came, in the end.”

Judal couldn’t help but chuckle himself at the thought of Freckles, so uptight and anal retentive, losing his absolute mind over Sinbad abandoning his life’s work to follow his true calling as a tattoo artist. The mental image was too funny to pass up.

But more than anything, Judal learned that Sinbad had far more virtues than he’d ever imagined. Sinbad was kind, most importantly, and he was sensitive to Judal’s feelings as well as his comfort. Sinbad was gentle, in the way he touched Judal and in the way that he spoke, and he was actually funny rather than crass. There were rougher edges to him too, clearly, from the way he walked to the gravel in his low voice, in the way that he held himself, but Judal didn’t find that distracting or unpleasant in any regard.  
  
It was needless to say that Judal liked Sinbad more than he ever could’ve anticipated.

“You said that you really like tattoos,” Judal began after a while. “Why’s that?” Judal had never once heard of a businessman turning to tattoo artistry for a career. He couldn't help feeling curious.

“Ah,” said Sinbad, thinking on it for a moment. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Judal shrugged and set his tea down on the table between them, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward with intrigue twinkling in his eyes. “Well,” he began, lips curling into a smile, “I have time.”

The words made Sinbad chuckle and shake his head, and Judal silently wondered how he ever could've allowed himself to go this soft. “I mean,” he started, and then paused, searching for the words. “I've always liked tattoos. I thought they looked cool, when I was younger. Though a lot of that was probably just to piss off my parents,” he added with a deprecative laugh, and a look in his eye that seemed far off. Judal, for a moment, almost interrupted to ask what his parents were like, but Sinbad already seemed so deep in thought, and he hadn’t even answered Judal’s first question yet. Judal couldn’t help that he wanted to know everything about Sinbad.

“And I like hearing the stories, too,” said Sinbad, thinking on it. “From the people who come in, I mean. I like the artistry and all.”

“But?” asked Judal, sensing the hesitance in his tone.

“But,” Sinbad continued, “the biggest reason is kind of superficial. I had a lot of scars from when I was younger, from working odd jobs and from fights and all. I didn’t really mind the scars, most of them were kind of insignificant and they looked alright, but some of them were kind of hard to explain in the world of business,” he explained with an awkward laugh, hand gone up to massage the back of his neck. “And some of them had kind of… painful memories attached. So I started looking into tattoos, and after a while I got really into it. I have way more tattoos than scars now, anyways,” Sinbad added with a cheeky grin.

“Oh,” Judal managed, sincerely taken aback. He had just expected Sinbad to be one of those trashy tattoo junkies he’d always see on tv, certainly not something like that. “That’s… a lot different from what I expected.”

Sinbad chuckled to himself. “What did you expect, then?”

“I don’t know,” Judal grumbled. “An underground drug smuggling ring?”  
  
That had made Sinbad really laugh, one that was genuine and not murmured under his breath, lest he ruin the quiet mood of the coffee house. Judal promptly decided that Sinbad’s laugh was best when it was unrestrained. “Oh, yeah,” he agreed, still chuckling to himself. “I’m definitely a drug lord, Judal.”

“Shut up,” Judal muttered to himself, looking away with a red-faced pout. There was something kind of noble though, about healing through art. Many people would’ve wallowed over unwanted blemishes but at least Sinbad had taken the initiative to do something about them. There was something inherently attractive about battle scars though, Judal was sure that Sinbad knew that. But if the art of tattoos was Sinbad’s way of coping with the hardship that he’d inevitably endured (who had that much scarring at such a young age?) then Judal was of no position to judge him.

“I think that’s kinda nice though,” said Judal, still reluctant to unite their gazes. “They look good on you. The tattoos, I mean.”

That was enough to make Sinbad smile again, a new idea curving his lips at the corners. “Thanks,” he said. “I think you would look really nice with a tattoo, you know.”

“No, no,” said Judal quickly, shaking his head fervently with long bangs falling forward as he did. Getting a tattoo was the last thing on Judal’s mind, he was sure that it would look trashy on him and he didn’t even know what he would possibly want. Besides, Judal had very sensitive skin, anyways. “Tattoos aren’t really my thing. I’d rather look at yours than get any myself.” Although Judal had meant it when he said he wanted to look at all of Sinbad’s tattoos, it was easy to misconstrue his words into something quite different, so he was very relieved when Sinbad changed the subject.

“Alright, alright,” Sinbad conceded, though with a good-natured smile still gracing his lips. “So, how did you get into the florist’s business, anyways? You seem very good at it.”

Judal scoffed, small nose wrinkling in distaste as he mulled over the question. “It wasn't my idea. My dumb friend Kougyoku wanted to start a flower shop and she asked me to help, but now she hardly even shows up.” Kougyoku did say that she was working on finding other employees, as well as other managerial tasks, but Judal was the one doing the dirty work and that was what bothered him to begin with.

Still, though, Judal didn't mind it so much anymore. He was better at taking care of flowers than he had expected himself to be, he had an affinity for making things grow (unlike Kougyoku, who was damn-near wrestling the leaves and stalks as she tried to bend them to her will). If he were being honest, it was easy and pleasant, but Judal was not one for honesty.

Besides, seeing Sinbad around every once in awhile wasn't exactly a drawback to the deal. As much as the man had frustrated him at first Judal eventually had to admit that the daily glimpse of Sinbad’s warm and truly genuine smile was something that never failed to brighten him, even if it were only on the inside. Judal could pretend all he wanted that passing Sinbad by every day was a chore but he had grown to enjoy that part of his routine. It gave him something to look forward to.

“You don't like it, then?” asked Sinbad. Judal made a noncommittal grunt in answer.

“I like it fine, I guess,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I just wish that that old hag would take care of her own dumb store for once.”

“I see,” Sinbad answered, nodding slowly in understanding. “That’s a shame. There are these botanical gardens near here that I thought you might like to visit with me sometime.”

At the mere thought of a second date with Sinbad, Judal’s heart was already beginning to race. All of this had been so stressful, but Judal had genuinely had fun on their date. Sinbad was sweet and funny and nice and Judal would've been a fool not to try and take this further, especially when his brain was screaming at him to hurry up and say yes before he could antagonize himself and somehow screw it up a second time.

“I never said that I don’t like flowers,” said Judal with a huff. “But I’ve never been to the gardens before. We should go sometime. If you want to, I mean.” Judal wished that he didn't sound so awkward but it was hard to keep the waver from his tone when Sinbad looked at him like that, all warm golden eyes and reassuring smiles. Judal wondered what he ever could've possibly done to deserve someone looking at him with such loving eyes on the first date.

Judal’s words brought a grin to Sinbad’s features and he nodded in eager agreement. “Yeah,” said Sinbad, “it's really beautiful, I think you’d like it. You would definitely fit in there,” he added with a wink. Sinbad had probably said something just like that to every pretty girl he happened to run into, but even if his words were not sincere, Judal couldn't help his bashful smile.

“Yeah,” said Judal, nodding as he smiled. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

The longer they spoke Judal just felt so incredibly boring compared to Sinbad. Judal, fresh out of school and wet behind the ears without the slightest inkling of how to care for himself in the real world, with Sinbad, who had created a name for himself in every field that he entered, succeeded in everything that he did; there was no comparison between them. But Sinbad was so understanding when he spoke, somehow so raw and kind in contrast to his intimidating demeanor, that Judal didn't feel all too bad in his shadow.

By the time that Judal had finished his (third? He couldn't quite keep track) and final cup of tea, it was still raining. Judal had intended to wait inside until the rain stopped, but even more than getting wet he would hate to seem desperate for Sinbad’s attention any longer than he had to. “Let’s go, idiot. It's getting dark out.”

Judal easily had the strength and the agility to stand on his own, but when Sinbad came around the table and offered him a hand to help him up Judal was helpless to turn him down. He scoffed as he took the outstretched hand, but while his features were harsh his touch was lighter, fingers hesitant and gentle when he placed them in Sinbad’s palm.

“Come on, princess,” Sinbad teased, giving Judal’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get you home.”

* * *

 Running through the rain had never been Judal’s ideal first date, but there was something inherently sweet about it. It was in how they’d shared one umbrella (even though Judal had complained the whole time, despite Sinbad clearly making the effort to hold it over him) and how their shoulders brushed together as they walked, how the warmth of another person beside Judal made the prickle of the rain easier to bear.

In the end, Judal was glad that it rained. It gave Judal the excuse to drape his arms over the arm Sinbad used to hold their umbrella.

(They had two, of course, one for each of them. But that would’ve been a hassle, and they would’ve been too far from one another for Judal to really feel content. From the way he had agreed to the suggestion, Judal was sure that Sinbad felt much the same way.)

It was stupid, Judal knew that already. But there was something he couldn’t quite resist when it came to laughing as he ran through the rain with his first real date in years, as he allowed himself one of the first, real laughs that he’d had in far too long.

“Can you stomach walking in the rain?” Sinbad asked, nudging Judal lightly in the side. “I can call you a cab, if you want.”

Judal shook his head, tightening his hold on Sinbad’s arm just barely so. “I don't mind too much,” he grumbled to himself. Judal hated rain. He looked like an angry wet cat when the water fell on his hair and when the droplets pricked his skin; it was never his favorite type of weather. And yet, here he was. “The rain isn’t so bad.”

Whether it was from surprise or fondness, Sinbad chuckled under his breath, nodding his head in gentle understanding. Judal was a fool to think that Sinbad wouldn’t notice the question in between the lines, to want to spend more time with him, even if they would have to brave the rain. At least they would be braving it together; that was what was most important. “Alright,” said Sinbad, smiling just faintly in response. “I’ll take you home. My car isn’t that far from here.”

Judal had known that Sinbad was a little older, but his car was the perfect representation of a man living through his midlife crisis (surely, Sinbad wasn’t that old, was he?). It was one of those fast, low-lying cars, sleek and black and streamlined, with tinted windows and leather seats. Judal knew that Sinbad used to be a businessman but what sort of business was he involved in that he could afford a _lambo?_   Even Judal, under the wealth of the Ren family, did not have a car like this; but then again, he was prohibited from driving after he’d wrecked his porsche a few months ago. This, though, was impressive.

Sinbad held open the door for Judal, and so he slid into the seat, wet hair squelching against the leather as he did.

“I’m sorry for getting your fancy car wet,” Judal teased once Sinbad came in on the driver’s side.

Sinbad only waved a hand at him, laughing it off. “Don’t worry,” he assured, “it’s been through worse.”

Judal nodded, running his fingers along the stitching of the leather, playing with the knobs that made the seat recline as Sinbad turned the key in the ignition.

“How’d you get a car like this?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “Some businessman you must’ve been.”

Sinbad sounded a little embarrassed as he laughed, Sinbad shook his head. “Ah, I was CEO of a big corporation a few years back. I liked being the boss but it got tiring after a while. Still floating on the money, though. I’m trying to be good about managing it, some of my friends are still running the company just in case, but I don’t think I’ll need to worry about cash for a long time.”

Another attractive feature, thought Judal, though not particularly for reasons of greed. Judal was well-accustomed to individuals pursuing him for his wealth—the Ren family was one of the wealthiest in the city, after all—but it seemed like, with Sinbad, he wouldn’t need to worry. Judal reclined in the seat with a relaxed sigh. “That’s good to know.”

The drive to the Ren’s estate wasn’t particularly long. Judal amused himself during the car ride through quiet discussion with Sinbad, playing with the buttons in his car, and listening to the rain splattering against the tinted windows. In one of the mirrors Judal caught, out of the corner of his eye, Sinbad smiling at him with warmth and fondness in his eyes. In the wake of his sudden embarrassment, Judal had forcefully instructed the man to keep his eyes on the road in spite of his growing flush.

After a while, they finally stopped, and Judal went for the door handle. “Well, this is my stop,” he said with a smile, hoping desperately that the low light in the car would hide his flush. Judal wasn’t by any means ashamed to be seen with Sinbad (in fact, he was rather proud to be seen with a man that looked like he did) but he did not want to explain anything to his family, not right now. Especially not to Kouen. “I’ll just get out here.”

“Let me at least walk you to the door,” said Sinbad as he got out.

He came around to the other side for Judal, still holding out the umbrella as he opened the door, and Judal stepped out with eyes cast down. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“I hope you’re not embarrassed of me,” Sinbad commented, and although his tone was light Judal was quick to shut him down.

“No, no,” he assured as they walked up the path to the door. “That isn’t it at all. I just,” he stammered, “I’ve never brought a boyfriend home before.”

Judal realized his mistake almost as soon as he had made it, and Sinbad was grinning at him with that stupid look on his face, and Judal wanted to smack that look of his face less than he wanted to kiss it. Judal couldn’t believe that he was going so soft. He was becoming worse than Kougyoku.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Sinbad asked. They were on his doorstep now, which was stupidly extravagant, and would’ve seemed bland and colorless if not for the detail in the architecture and the bountiful garden that lined the steps (Kougyoku’s doing; they had always been her hobby).

“Yeah,” Judal managed, looking away. “I don’t know if I’m getting ahead of myself, it’s been so long since I was—”

“Boyfriend,” Sinbad said again, testing the word on his tongue, and his smile grew. “I really like the sound of that.”

Judal scoffed and shook his head, but it was too hard to fight the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he chuckled, softly. “I like it too.”

There was silence for a moment; the awkwardness became clear in seconds. Judal knew what Sinbad was waiting for, but did he have the strength to give it to him? He was already a blushing mess as it was, Judal wasn’t quite sure how he would fare if he gave that to Sinbad now.

“I’ll be going, then,” said Sinbad, flashing Judal a lopsided smile, the kind that would only look good on a face like his. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work, yeah?”

Judal nodded, slowly as Sinbad turned to leave, feeling the opportunity slipping away. “Yeah,” he whispered, murmured under his breath. Before Sinbad could take his leave Judal stepped forward, balanced high on his tiptoes, and rested a hand on Sinbad’s shoulder as he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. When he pulled away, Sinbad’s eyes were wide for once, far from his usual state of composure, genuinely taken aback. Judal stumbled back to where he had stood before, a safe distance away, though the burn never left his cheeks for a second.

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Judal, and before he could embarrass himself any further, opened the door and hurried inside.

In the back of his mind, Judal could still see the stupid grin that had stretched across Sinbad’s stupid handsome face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments keep me alive lads


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I totally forgot to update this for the past few weeks please forgive I have this

It was on one of the days that Kougyoku had actually come into work that Sinbad decided to show his face there again. Sinbad and Judal had seen each other a lot in passing, a smile and a greeting shared as they met each morning on the sidewalk, the subtle grace of fingertips against fingertips, but nothing more (out in public, at least). It hadn't been long since their last date, and Judal was more than looking forward to the next one.

But now, Sinbad and Kougyoku were face to face, and that was more frightening than anything else possibly could have been.

“You left this in my car the other day,” Sinbad began, smiling as he held Judal’s umbrella, dried completely from the rain the day before.

Judal took it back from him without being stubborn. “Thanks,” he said, lips curving upwards just subtly at the corners. If he paused for long enough, Judal could feel Kougyoku staring hard at him from across the shop.

“Are we still on for next week?” Sinbad asked, sounding hopeful, and Judal scoffed at him. Were it not for the lowness of his voice, he almost would’ve sounded naive.

“‘Course we are,” said Judal, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “You said you wanted to take me to see the gardens, right? Or did you forget?”

Sinbad smiled down at him. “Of course I didn’t forget.”

Kougyoku didn’t introduce herself or say anything as Sinbad and Judal spoke, words exchanged in hushed tones and communicated through gentle smiles. Sinbad bought another bouquet, one of delicate, white flowers with big, silky petals. After he paid for the dozen, Sinbad broke one off partway down its stem, and extended a hand to tuck the single flower carefully into Judal’s dark, dark hair.

“I’ll see you then, beautiful.” And, with a smile and a wink, Sinbad turned and walked out the door.

Judal could’ve sworn that his heart stopped.

“A white gardenia,” Judal heard Kougyoku from behind him, her words saccharine, but double-edged with a certain playful mischief that hadn’t been there when it was just the two of them. “Symbolizing purity, sweetness and innocence, and given to tell the receiver that they are lovely.” Kougyoku gave him a look, and Judal shrugged her off with a sneer. At least her interruption had given him an excuse not to dwell over Sinbad’s words; he surely would’ve gone insane if he spent any longer thinking about the way that Sinbad had called him beautiful.

“That guy isn’t pure or innocent by any means.”

She only hummed in response, smile audible in the sound. “You’re right. _He_ isn’t.”

Judal tried to look angry but found that all he could do was to play his fingers through the flower that was tucked behind his ear, woven into his dark hair. Stupid Sinbad; he always knew just what to do to make Judal crumble. “Yeah, okay,” he grumbled. “Whatever.”

“So, you’re going to see him again?”

Judal shrugged, desperately turning his back to work on something else so that Kougyoku wouldn’t have to see the way the red of his cheeks shone against the white of the flower. “Yeah, I am.” Judal thought for a moment, before adding, “he’s nice.”

“He is handsome.”

“That’s not the point,” Judal insisted, but deflated with a sigh. “He is that too, though.”

Kougyoku’s features shifted into a look of realization, lips pursed into an “o” shape as she finally understood. “Is that why you came home so late the other day?”

Judal rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that late.”

“Kouen was worried.”

“Kouen is always worried about something. That’s why he has all those forehead wrinkles,” said Judal, wrinkling his nose in poor imitation. While Judal appreciated the sentiment, and the fact that Kouen had always looked out for him, Judal wasn’t worried about Sinbad at all. Sinbad had given Judal no reason not to trust him, what sort of boyfriend would Judal be to doubt him?

Ah. There was that word again, boyfriend. They had only been on one date and already Judal had hearts in his eyes like some sort of lovesick teenager. It was exhausting. And yet, the tug at his heart refused to go away.

Kougyoku’s cheeks swelled a little, lips pursed into a pout and elegant brows drawn together in a frown. “I was worried too, you know!”

"Christ, we went out for coffee. It’s not like we fucked or anything—”

“Judal!”

“Oh, come on, hag,” Judal waved a gloved hand. They hadn’t even really kissed; Kougyoku was getting herself worked up over coffee and a peck on the cheek. “He’s nice. It’s fine. Don’t you want me to get back out there? This won’t be like the last time.”

“Last time,” said Kougyoku, “you wouldn’t leave your bedroom for a month.”

Judal made an exasperated noise. “Last time, I was in high school, and we never even made it past the first date. Hell, it wasn't even a real date! We didn't even kiss before he broke my fucking heart so I shouldn't even count it at all.”

He didn’t have to look up to feel her eyes on him, probably gone soft and sympathetic and sappy and that just wasn’t something Judal could handle in that very moment. “Look, hag—Sinbad isn’t anything you need to worry about. He’s a little dumb but he’s… he’s a good guy.” With a sigh, Judal unpinned the flower from where it remained tucked into his hair to get a look at it, holding it out in front of him. Purity. Innocence. Loveliness. Perhaps Sinbad could not have cared less what a single white flower meant but Judal felt his heart flutter at the thought that he might have known, that he might’ve cared. It was a sweet gesture, in any case. “I think he really likes me.” One could only hope.

Perhaps his words had brought a shift in Kougyoku’s state of mind, or perhaps—more likely—she had noticed the softened fragility in his words, for she laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled when he looked back. “That’s good, then. I’m really happy for you, Judal. I just don’t want you to get hurt, but it looks like he really cares about you.”

Judal hummed in response, smoothing out the delicate, white petals with his fingers, and barely noticed it when he began to smile. “It does, doesn’t it?” The thought was one that infinitely warmed his heart. “That sounds really nice.”

Although he hadn’t had one before, Judal promptly decided that gardenias were officially his favorite flower.

* * *

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky on the day that Sinbad took Judal to the gardens. While the clear skies and lack of downpour were appreciated, the heat of an early summer day left a lot to be desired, but that was alright. There was a gentle breeze to make up for the heat though, ruffling the vibrant flowers that lined the worn brick paths and stirring the leaves of the many trees that they passed. There was a trickling from the streams that they passed by, as well as the occasional splash from a skipping stone or jumping minnows. Best of all, there were hardly any people, and the peace and intimacy of the moment were what Judal appreciated the most. 

Judal would’ve typically sneered at this sort of thing, but in that very moment he could understand why Sinbad frequented places like these so often. He said that it was so he could draw the flowers from life (which was why he had brought that worn leather notebook of his) because lots of his patrons were young women who wanted flowery tramp stamps staining their skin. But even though Sinbad looked like he would be more at home in a bar or a nightclub than a flower garden, he looked rather content right where he was, hand in hand with Judal.

“What is it with you and putting flowers in my hair?” asked Judal, feigning indignance to hide his growing flush when Sinbad tucked a red hibiscus behind his ear. “I don’t think you’re even allowed to take flowers from here, idiot.”

Sinbad answered with a playful scoff. “What are they going to do, arrest me? Besides,” he added with a growing smile, “your hair is so long and beautiful, it would be a waste not to ornament it.”

It was hard for Judal to roll his eyes when his cheeks were flushed so red, when Sinbad’s words made him lose all ability to function. This time, Kougyoku wasn’t here to save him from overanalyzing the way he had said it: beautiful. “You,” Judal began, sputtering, “you just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Sinbad grinned back at him. “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t?”

Judal blew air out through his nose, a quiet sort of laugh that kept the tumble of his thoughts completely internal. Flower meanings had come up the other day when Kougyoku had first brought up the gardenias, so she had mentioned a few more after that. Now that he thought on it Judal distinctly remembered the meaning of a hibiscus. It was a feminine flower, and Judal should’ve hit him for that, but it was also given to acknowledge one’s delicate beauty. Perhaps Sinbad did not know what any of the flowers meant and Judal was writing a goddamn romance novel in his head for nothing, but it was something that he liked to think about nonetheless.

Judal was promptly drawn out from such overwhelming thoughts by the feeling of Sinbad drawing him closer, just gently by the hand that held his, as he pressed a kiss to Judal’s forehead. Judal was certain, now, that he was actually going to combust.

“Uh,” Judal began, grasping for the words, “I, uh…”

“Was that alright?” Sinbad asked, careful as he brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen into Judal’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Once Judal regained his sense of consciousness and felt the moment slipping away, he quickly shook his head and gave Sinbad’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Nah, you just caught me off guard,” he said, lips curving into a lopsided smile once he regained his footing. With that, Judal put his free hand flat against Sinbad’s chest and balanced on his tiptoes (curse his height) to press another kiss to Sinbad’s cheek. Pulling away, he said, “that was perfect.”

When Sinbad flashed him another one of those dazzling smiles, it was nearly impossible for Judal not to melt.

They spent a while strolling together through the winding paths, through the clearing made by tall, colorful trees and brilliantly-colored flowers. Sinbad looked particularly handsome dappled in the afternoon light that shone through the gaps in the trees, strong features softened by the glow against his warm, tanned skin, the way his eyes lit up his whole face even in the low light. Silently, Judal asked himself how he ever could’ve gotten so lucky.

They came to rest at a bench beneath a tree with lots of delicate pink flowers—it was probably a peach tree, only in the wrong season, Judal thought to himself with the beginnings of a pout. But it was still lovely, an alcove surrounded by a plethora of flowers and greenery. It made Judal’s hatred for his current job subside a little, even if he didn’t really hate it that much to begin with. It was hard to hold a grudge with flowers, they were very pretty and did little but brighten every space that would have them. Judal’s days had certainly been brighter since he’d begun to work at the shop, although that may have been due more in part to Sinbad’s influence than the job to begin with. But it wasn’t something that he loathed, not anymore. At the very least, Judal was perfectly content to be around flowers now.

“Hey,” Judal began, eyeing the way that Sinbad took out the notebook he always seemed to keep with him when they were together. “What are you always drawing in there, anyways?”

Something about the question seemed to catch Sinbad off guard, and Judal didn’t miss the nervous way in which he laughed. “What, this?” he asked, holding the thing up between his fingers. It wasn’t very large, with a soft leather cover and pages that looked worn from overuse. “It’s nothing,” he assured, waving a hand. “Just flowers, tattoo designs. You know.”

The way he skirted around the issue was too intriguing for Judal to just drop the issue. He was silent for a moment, debating the best way to ask, when he finally settled on, “can I see?”

Sinbad looked as though he were about to decline but the moment he turned to meet his gaze, Judal could see the way that his resolve crumbled. He cracked a wry smile as he handed it over. “Go ahead.”

Judal did his best to be careful as he took the book into his hands; it was so worn that it looked like the pages could fall apart if he mishandled it, so Judal was gentle as he ran his thumb over the leather. It looked like Sinbad drew a lot, but he really didn’t fit the “tortured artist” archetype. Judal couldn’t help his curiosity.

“How long have you had this?”

Sinbad shrugged as Judal began leafing through the pages. “A while. Some of it was from when I was still in business but most of it is more recent.”

Sinbad was a good artist. He was better than good, way better, but he was good at everything so Judal wasn't really surprised. It was still impressive, though. In the earlier pages especially there were a lot of designs and concepts; they looked like they’d been worked into a lot. The pages were wrinkled and messy and graphite was smeared in places but it was still incredibly good, intricate and detailed, something that one wouldn't really expect from a man with brawn like Sinbad.

The drawings got better as the pages went on. There was more detail, less smudging, lots of dark ink flowing across yellowed pages. There was more from life than just the designs, lots of still objects, flowers especially. He had a good eye for them. Sometimes Judal felt like Sinbad should've been the florist to begin with because while he had an eye for them he was so charismatic and suave, always so confident and in control. But Judal was glad that he was the florist instead, so that they at least could’ve met and enjoyed each other’s company like this.

“These are really good,” said Judal aloud, gazing upon the pages in silent reverie. “You're really talented.”

Sinbad chortled under his breath. “I’m glad that you think so.”

“I don't know why you didn't want me to see this.” Judal’s features were colored with a look of awe as he looked through, turning slowly so not to disrupt the book’s fragile binding. “These are beautiful.”

Sinbad smiled weakly. “Turn the page.”

Eyebrow arched at the solemnity of his words, Judal did as he was told, turning the page with his long fingers using the utmost care, and then, he understood.  
  
All along it seemed that the reason Sinbad kept stopping by the flower shop was not to paint the flowers, but to paint Judal. There were lots of sketches featuring him, quick figures, detailed ones of his face that replicated each feature with incredible care; although Judal did not think he was quite as lovely as Sinbad made him out to be. Among the sketches there were finished pieces too, ones done in paint or in ink, but each lent a look to Judal that made him seem soft and strangely approachable.  
  
Nearly all of Sinbad’s sketches depicted Judal smiling: a sweet, happy and genuine smile, one very unlike the scowl that he put on when he was working, the one that Kougyoku had scolded him against. In the drawings, Sinbad chose to make Judal look beautiful, happy and innocent and sweet, all of the things that Judal was not. But it was all very flattering, and it was something that made Judal smile.

“You like to draw me too, huh?”

Sinbad cracked a smile. “You’re one of my favorite subjects,” he chuckled to himself, kind of self deprecating as he looked away. “I couldn't help myself.”

“I guess that's why you always came in with that notebook,” said Judal in whispered realization. He was particularly careful when he turned these pages, studying the detail in the figures, the sheer effort it must've taken to replicate his hair. It must've been a labor of love to make him look so perfect, an effort that Judal couldn't help but marvel at. “You make me look much prettier than I actually am.”

“No way,” Sinbad scoffed, waving a hand. The look on his face seemed strangely bashful for once; probably because he wasn't in control like he usually was, between the two of them. It was rare for Judal to catch Sinbad off guard, and it was a sight that made him smile. “I could never do you justice.”

“Oh, please,” Judal chuckled, shaking his head. He had some amount of confidence in his physical appearance (probably too much) but Judal was not vain enough to think that he was of any comparison to the perfection in the pages. “I wish I looked like this,” Judal sighed as he reached the last filled pages of the notebook, passing it back into Sinbad’s hands once he’d finished. “You’re really good at these.”

“You know, Judal,” Sinbad began, resting a hand on Judal’s shoulder, pale and bare from the wide neckline of his crop top, a touch that made him instinctively tense. “That first day I walked into your store, I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

Despite the way his cheeks flamed Judal scoffed, perhaps too loud, trying to brush it off with a snort. Sinbad had probably said the same thing to everyone he found attractive, to all of his past partners. It was nothing to get worked up over but that didn’t change the intensity of his blush. “Why bring that up now?”

“Because I mean it,” said Sinbad. He set his book down beside him and turned to face Judal, and carefully, slow enough for Judal to slap his hand away if he so chose, lifted a hand to Judal’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Judal, not just on a page. Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you before?”

Judal cracked a smile, and leaned his head gently into Sinbad’s palm. “Not the way that you do.”

“That’s a shame, then.” Sinbad shifted his hand just so, thumb reaching up to brush the dark strands of hair back from Judal’s face, away from his carmine eyes. Judal was certain that he looked like a lovesick fool with the faraway look in his eyes and the stupid smile stretched across his features, but when Sinbad looked at him like that he couldn’t find it himself to care. “Anyone would be blind not to notice.”

It was a cliche and it was stupid but that didn’t stop the smile from spreading across Judal’s features, tugging at the corners of his lips, making his cheeks flare with blush. “Stupid old man.” Judal would have rathered to die than fall for Sinbad’s lame pick up lines but somehow this seemed more real, for that look in his eyes was impossible to feign, the heat beneath his fingertips something that could not be forced. “I’ll bet you say that to every pretty face.”

“Not like this,” said Sinbad, voice impossibly softer, a low, deep hum that could lull even the most fussy of babies to sleep. He carded a hand through Judal’s hair, fingers tangling with the long, black strands, as a fond smile colored his lips. “I didn’t mean it, then.”  
  
Sinbad was a charmer, definitely, and Judal was a fool to fall for his charms. But, at the very least, he was a happy fool, and that was what mattered the most.

All that Judal could manage was a soft hum in response, and when Sinbad’s lips seemed closer he could not tell which one of them had moved. Sinbad hesitated then, only for a second, until Judal could just feel the breath tickling his skin, the warmth in his face. Judal barely recognized the sound of his own voice when he spoke.

“Kiss me.”

Sinbad didn’t dare deny him.

The kiss was slow and sweet when Sinbad pressed his lips against Judal’s. His lips tasted better than the sweetest peach, moving slowly, gently against Judal’s rose petal lips, soft and chaste. Judal could tell that Sinbad was experienced, even from a kiss so tame, could feel the aching restraint behind his lips, replaced by the tenderness with which he moved them. Judal felt Sinbad’s hand gently in his hair, coaxing their lips together, skin against skin when Judal placed his palm to the side of Sinbad’s neck, touch against touch.

It was Sinbad who pulled away first but Judal could still feel the breath against his lips when he did, could still feel Sinbad’s arm around his waist and the hand in his hair and Sinbad’s shoulder beneath his hand. Sinbad was a good kisser; he was good at everything. Judal knew that Sinbad could’ve done more, probably wanted to, but he had been sensitive to Judal’s wants, sensitive and careful and kind and it was a touch that made Judal feel ready to melt.

“Was that alright, beautiful?”

Judal was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t hear the question. When he didn’t respond Sinbad, perhaps thinking that he’d made a mistake, tried to untangle his fingers from Judal’s hair, but Judal placed a hand over his to stop him.

“Better than alright,” Judal whispered, grinning up at him even as he leaned closer and snaked both arms around Sinbad’s neck, watching the way that Sinbad smiled back at him. “Believe me.”

“Good,” said Sinbad with a grin, tugging Judal gently closer in his arms, close enough that he could drop a kiss to the crown of Judal’s dark hair. “I’m glad.”

Even as he pulled away, Judal couldn’t stop smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im crying rereading all of this i should really go back and edit bc im having a bad time but im tired so.. :')
> 
> i'll add in the italics later.. maybe. hopefully.. anyway please enjoy

It was raining again, the night when Judal called Sinbad.

They had gone on a few dates together, since going to the gardens the week before. There were the times where they’d met together at the coffee shop—the same one as before, because it was Judal’s favorite and Sinbad  _ never  _ turned down Judal’s favorite things—and they’d gone a second time to the gardens, which were just as beautiful as Judal remembered them to be. But most of the time they met in passing, a quick kiss shared when Sinbad came in to buy the flowers, or sometimes Sinbad would drive Judal home since he was still hopeless behind the wheel. Judal particularly enjoyed the times when he’d catch Ja’far rolling his eyes at their tender moments, or to hear Kougyoku shriek at him (blushing as she did) to get back inside and help her. But even though the moments shared were quick, the intimacy was always there, real as ever. 

But now, Judal was home alone and it was storming out, and while he was  _ not  _ scared of some thunder and lightning he did not want to be cooped up in that big, empty house all by himself.

“Can you come over?” Judal asked after he’d dialed Sinbad’s number, and he told himself that the tremble in his voice wouldn't be audible on the other line. 

“What?” Sinbad’s voice was low and gravelly, like he’d just woken up. “Why, is something wrong? Did something happen?”

There was another crash and Judal was probably imagining it as the whole house shook but it was enough to make him swallow his pride and keep pushing. “Can you just come over? Please, Sinbad?”

Maybe he had heard the tremble in Judal’s voice after all, or perhaps the way he’d dropped the silly nicknames for once had alerted Sinbad of the dire circumstance. “I’ll be right there.”

Sinbad really must've sped through the rain to arrive at Judal’s front door in minutes, though it was hard to imagine him risking his luxurious car like that over something as silly as Judal’s whims. Hardly ten minutes had passed since Judal’s phone call when he heard the ring at the doorbell, and so Judal was quick as he padded along the tile with soft, bare feet, hurrying to open the door.

Judal didn't hesitate to throw open the door, knowing already with certainty who would be awaiting him. Sure enough, there stood Sinbad, violet hair thoroughly soaked with rain, droplets dotting the fabric of his clothes and splattered against his warm, tanned skin. For a moment, Judal felt guilt swirling in his stomach at the thought of having made Sinbad go out in the terrible weather, all for his sake, but he couldn’t deny that there was something rather alluring about seeing Sinbad like this, with his white shirt adhering to his skin and leaving little to the imagination, his dark hair wet and slicked back. The allure itself almost made up for Judal’s intense guilt.

“Are you alright, Judal?” Sinbad asked, as if he weren’t drenched from head to toe, as if Judal were the one in need of aid, despite his own predicament. “What happened?”

Judal felt incredibly foolish when he glanced away, cheeks darkened with blush. “Come inside first,” he murmured, extending a hand to Sinbad even in spite of how soaked his hand must’ve been, “before you catch a cold.”

With a weak smile, Sinbad took Judal’s hand and allowed himself to be led into the house. He was dripping water all over the expensive marble but Judal couldn’t have cared less; it wasn’t his mess to clean, anyways. There were maids for that.

The abundance of maids in the manor (who,  _ conveniently,  _ weren’t working now) were precisely the reason that it took Judal so long to find the towels, because he never actually went to get them himself. But after a while of searching he came back down the hall, towel in hand—as well as some of Kouen’s dry clothes, who would probably kill him for it later—and passed the towel over to Sinbad.

“You got here really fast,” said Judal quietly.

“Well, you know,” Sinbad chuckled, towelling his hair and peering out at Judal from beneath it, laughter sparkling in his eyes. “I couldn’t keep my princess waiting.”

“Stupid old man,” Judal complained as he threw the bundle of dry clothes at him at him, with apparent force, as the hit was strong enough to make him grunt when it fell against his stomach. Though, that could’ve just been Sinbad humoring him. Quietly, he added, “thank you for coming.”

Sinbad looked at him for a moment, watching the way that Judal averted his gaze, and he stepped closer, lifting Judal’s chin with a practiced finger. “Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me if there’s something wrong.”

As if it were on cue there was another crash from outside, and Judal wished that he could hit himself for the speed that he went into Sinbad’s arms, hands clutching at his soaked shirt, face hidden against the smooth pane of his chest. It startled him, Judal assured himself. He wasn’t usually this much of a baby.

“Judal—”

“Don’t say anything,” Judal murmured, head bowed, embarrassed. “Just—Just don’t.”

Sinbad was silent for a moment but he spoke again anyway, slowly, carding fingers through Judal’s dark hair. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Out,” Judal hissed back. “Kouen and Koumei are on some business trip.” Away from the weather; what Judal wouldn’t give to be them. “Hakuei and Hakuryuu are visiting their mom in the hospital. Kougyoku’s on a date and fuck if I know where the  _ hell _ Kouha is—”

“Baby, relax,” Sinbad murmured into Judal’s hair, holding him tight and close even though they were both soaked now, standing in the hall. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Judal would’ve been a fool not to believe him.

Despite his initial protests Sinbad changed into the dry clothes, and from where he lounged across the couch Judal knew he shouldn’t have been watching but he couldn’t  _ help  _ himself. Sinbad’s tattoos were an even greater sight to see when he took off his clothes; it was a challenge not to admire the way that ink and tanned skin flowed together, the way that the markings rippled with his musculature and flowed like water against his skin. It was almost a crime when he put on his shirt again, and while Kouen was a little taller than he was Sinbad was broader, making his tailored clothes a rather  _ tight  _ fit against Sinbad’s skin.

Sinbad grinned when he caught Judal staring, and Judal knew nothing else to do but duck behind the back of the sofa with cheeks that burned.

“Like what you see, huh?” Sinbad asked as he came around to the front of the couch, taking a seat beside Judal. “It’s not like I can blame you.” Judal huffed as he hit him with a pillow but allowed Sinbad under the blanket anyways, and the warmth of another was a welcome change. The house was dark save for a few candles and dimmed lights, the tv that Judal had desperately hoped would drown out his paranoia. 

“You’re still stupid,” Judal complained, narrow frame tucked neatly into the crevice of Sinbad’s shoulder. “Even if you are… handsome.”

Sinbad grinned, tugging him gently closer. “Handsome, huh?” Judal wished that he’d never said it. “People don’t usually call me handsome.”

Judal snorted. “What do they call you, then? Jackass?”

“Sometimes,” said Sinbad, with a smile so good-natured that all Judal could find it in himself to do was melt into Sinbad’s embrace, feeling the warmth of hard muscle around him. Judal felt Sinbad’s fingers carding through his inky black hair; it was untied now, loose and freed from its bindings to spill all across his shoulders and back, so long that the ends were damp from where they had dragged through the puddles. Sinbad was gentle with it, playing his skilled fingers through the strands in such a manner that Judal was near purring at the tender touch. “Most of the time people coin me as hot or sexy, not handsome,” he chuckled. “But I like when you say it.” He brushed a lock of long hair behind Judal’s ear, pausing to press a kiss against his temple. “It’s cute when you do.”

“Cute,” Judal echoed, almost disbelieving, and scoffed. “I’m anything but cute.”

“I think you are,” Sinbad murmured, smiling. His fingers were still in Judal’s hair, combing through the long locks, gently, tenderly. Judal refused to tell Sinbad that he never allowed anyone to touch his hair like this, he’d never risk his most prized possession like that. But Sinbad was so sweet with him, touch soft and fleeting like the kisses he peppered to Judal’s collarbone, and he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

“You have very beautiful hair,” Sinbad murmured softly when Judal came closer, easing his weight against Sinbad’s chest when he pressed against him, leaning into his embrace. Sinbad dropped a kiss to his forehead, brushing back the thick bangs when he did. “I know I’ve said it before but  _ god,  _ you’re so beautiful, Judal. I’ll never stop telling you that.”

Sinbad’s high praise was an excellent distraction from the storm, Judal thought as he nestled into the embrace, arms gone around his neck, closer, warmer. “You say that like you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

Thunder crashed outside of the house, louder than it had been before, and this time it sent all of the lights flickering out with it. Judal cried out as he buried his face into the crook of Sinbad’s neck, weak and shaking and desperate for the warmth of Sinbad’s arms around him. Sinbad was quick as he tugged Judal closer, shifting him into the embrace, and even though it was silly Sinbad didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything, only pulled Judal closer into his arms. 

“It can’t hurt you,” Sinbad said after a while, once Judal’s shaking had eased. “Nothing is going to hurt you, Judal.”

“Did I ever tell you,” Judal began, softly, a whisper into the nape of Sinbad’s neck, “how my parents died? My real parents?”

Sinbad’s arms seemed to grow stiff around him, only for a moment. “No,” he said, quietly. “You haven’t.”

“We… we were really poor where I’m from. Our house wasn’t built well enough to survive a lightning storm. So it didn’t,” he said, softly, whispered against the column of Sinbad’s neck. “And neither did my parents.”

Judal should never have even brought it up, it was a mistake to even mention it. Now he had gotten himself thinking about that again, of what little memory he’d retained from his earliest years. He remembered how his father would spin him around in the air and tickle him until he begged for mercy, remembered how his mother would brush his hair and sing to him, just softly, just gently. Judal shouldn’t have thought about it and he shouldn’t have cared, and if he ever did he should’ve thought of that storm as the best thing that ever happened to him. He was living in luxury. He’d never had to work for anything in his life and he was always cared for and looked after by the family that had taken him in but sometimes it still hurt just to think about it, just to remember. Sometimes, Judal wished that he didn’t.

When Sinbad didn’t say anything, he kept talking. “I was four when it happened so I don’t remember a lot. But I remember the crashing and the fire and everything. I don’t think I can ever forget.”

Judal felt Sinbad’s fingers running through his hair, gently, quietly, and then there was another crash and the whole house lit up by the lightning’s flash, and Judal seized up as Sinbad held him tighter. His hands were shaking, and something like a whimper slipped past his lips, something that he wished he could've bitten back. Judal heard Sinbad’s low voice soothing him and he could make out his features from the corner of his eye by the glow of whatever few candles had been lit but that was all there was and Judal still couldn’t stop shaking.

“Nothing like that is going to happen to you, Judal,” he heard Sinbad murmur from above him, holding him tight. Judal hated being scared and he hated leaning on anyone else for anything and he felt desperate and scared and  _ weak  _ but there he was, and Sinbad didn’t let go _.  _ “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Judal felt a dampness against his cheek that was too warm and too raw to have been from Sinbad’s drenched hair, and his face burned with embarrassment. “I know,” Judal whispered, softly, surprising even himself. “I know that.”

Sinbad held him there for a while, and when Judal’s shaking did not stop Sinbad put a hand at the small of his back and began again. “Do you remember the day I first asked you out?”

Judal scoffed, which came out more like a shudder but he nodded anyways. “Yeah,” he managed. “I remember.”

Gently, Sinbad helped Judal to lean back, just far enough away that he’d be able to see his face, so that Judal could look into the gold swimming in his eyes, could see the smile tugging at his lips, all gentle reassurances that soothed Judal’s pounding heart. “When you said no,” he continued, chuckling to himself. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I just got down and sat on the floor and asked myself how the  _ hell  _ I ever could’ve let someone like you slip away.”

Judal couldn’t help but laugh at the image, the thought of a man like Sinbad debasing himself like that all over Judal’s rushed, panicked denial. “Idiot,” he chuckled, “I didn’t mean to wound you like that.”

“And then, when Ja’far came in and saw me like that,” Sinbad had to pause for a second, laughing to himself, self-deprecating and almost embarrassed for once, “he said he was going to go over and buy one of your bouquets, just to thank you for putting me in my place.”

That one  _ really  _ made Judal burst into laughter, just at the thought of it. He should’ve felt sorry to have caused Sinbad such suffering but the image was just  _ too funny  _ not to laugh at, of Sinbad moping on the floor as Ja’far gave him a verbal lashing worthy of any man’s cringe. “Why are you telling me this?” Judal asked, chuckled under his breath.

Sinbad cracked a smile. “Your laughter means more to me than my suffering.”

Judal’s laughter died slowly, dimmed into a soft giggle under his breath. “Stupid old man,” he murmured. But Sinbad was right; sure enough, his self deprecating stories had been enough for Judal to forget that it was even raining. They were still shrouded in darkness save for the few candles scattered across the table but the crash of thunder seemed quieter now, further away, and Judal managed a smile.

He wasn't sure what to say. Would a thank you be appropriate? Judal didn't think he could swallow his pride enough for that. So instead, he tucked himself back into the crook of Sinbad’s side, felt the strong arm as it went around his shoulder. “You know,” said Judal, quietly, “I couldn't sleep after I said no to you.”

“Is that so?” Sinbad asked, lips curving with the beginnings of a smile.

“I knew it was a mistake to say no, I just—ah, I don’t know. It’s only been a couple weeks but I’ve just never been in a serious relationship before.”

“I never took you for one so innocent,” said Sinbad, and Judal expected there to be mirth but his eyes had gone soft at him, despite his smile. Judal scoffed at him.

“I’m not innocent,” he complained. “I’m  just… inexperienced.”

Sinbad gave him a look, and  _ there  _ was the mirth that he’d been looking for. “Inexperienced, huh?” He asked, gone back to playing his fingers through Judal’s long hair. It was a feeling of which Judal would never tire. “That’s still pretty cute.”

“Not cute,” Judal argued. But with the way that his cheeks puffed out when he pouted, trying so hard to look mean, and how Sinbad’s features only brightened upon looking at him, he must've looked pretty cute in that very moment.

Sinbad didn't argue though, only kept playing with Judal’s silky hair. “Innocent or not,” said Sinbad, unable to hide his smile, “I promise that I’ll take care of you.”

Gently, Sinbad’s free hand found its way to Judal’s, and he lifted the pale, slender fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back of it. It was a gesture that made Judal feel warm, and when Judal offered his hand for more, Sinbad graciously accepted and began to pepper slow, sweet kisses gently up the length of it, lips skimming across milky white skin. Sinbad dropped kisses like teardrops along the smooth pane of Judal’s arm and his wrist, pressing his lips gently to every inch, drawing a line with his lips up along the delicate skin. 

His kisses traveled higher along the smooth canvas of Judal’s body until they had reached his shoulder, smooth and bare from his wide-necked shirt. Sinbad’s kisses were not anything that made Judal cry out for mercy (although he was almost certain that Sinbad could have done that, if he wanted to) but it was a touch that made Judal settle and relax, made him feel comfortable and safe when he put his arms around Sinbad’s neck, fingers combing through the damp, knotted hair at his nape.

Judal felt the kisses pressed to the long, elegant column of his neck, pale and white like marble, flawless and smooth. Sinbad’s kisses were not anything that would leave a mark and Judal took comfort in that, leaning against him, feeling Sinbad’s lips skim across his jawline, a fleeting touch, before they finally came to rest at his lips. This time, Judal pulled him close and kissed him back.

When Sinbad finally tugged away, the lights were back on. Judal wasn't quite sure  _ when  _ they had come on, perhaps the flicker of the lights had been when he’d closed his eyes for the kiss, or maybe he had been so lost in Sinbad’s kisses that he just hadn't been aware enough to notice. But they were back on, and the drum of rain outside had slowed to a dull patter against the windows, too mild to cause Judal any sort of distress. 

Judal opened his mouth to say something, but it was Sinbad who spoke first, combing his fingers again through Judal’s silky soft hair. “Do you feel better now, love?”

Sinbad realized his mistake the moment that Judal grew tense in his arms. Ah.  _ Love.  _ Perhaps Sinbad was not the sort for constantly professing  _ I love you _ but the meaning was there, veiled beneath his words. Sinbad didn't even have to say it for Judal to know. Sinbad, who would drop everything at his call, who waited for him, who was patient and gentle and kind,  _ loved him.  _

Judal wanted to hear it anyways.

“What was that?” he asked; perhaps he’d heard wrong. Perhaps he was deluding himself. But then, it was Sinbad’s turn to look embarrassed. 

“I asked,” he began, softer this time, “if you were feeling better.”

Judal had never before smiled so bright.

“Really,” said Judal, half grinning and half questioning as he turned his gaze into Sinbad, scarlet and gold, like blood and water mixed as one. 

Sinbad managed a laugh. “Really.”

Judal knew he must've looked stupid when he threw his arms around Sinbad’s neck, holding him close, pulling him into the embrace, but he didn't care. The rain had stopped but Judal did not want Sinbad to leave his side for a long, long time. Judal pressed a kiss to his cheek, lips beside his ear.

“I feel much better,  _ love.” _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mfhshkdj late update bc i am sick.. i am so sorry
> 
> i wrote this chapter in a rush a few weeks ago so its probably not the best fmdhsjdh idk i might revise it or scrap it later who knows! not me! haha ok but here it is

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo, old hag?”

Judal heard a clatter when Kougyoku dropped her hand shovel against the tile. “What?” she asked, shooting him a look. “You _wouldn’t.”_

“Why wouldn’t I?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

“Because you _hate_ tattoos. You always thought they looked trashy.”

“I mean, yeah, I did,” he said. “But that was before.”

Kougyoku sighed, picked up the shovel from where it had fallen and set it back on the shelf beside the flowerpot. “It’ll hurt a lot, you know,” she said, coming over to him. Judal rolled his eyes at her.

“What would you know about that?” he scoffed. “It’s not like you’ve ever gotten one.”

Kougyoku went silent at that, silent for too long to be a coincidence. She refused to look at him.

“No way,” said Judal. He would’ve laughed if he weren’t so taken aback. “Sweet old hag has a _tattoo?”_

“Shut up!” she shrieked, finally looking at him with cheeks flared red. “A-Alibaba and I got them a few months ago.” _Ah._ Judal remembered the one night she came home past midnight, a rare exception for one as mild-mannered as she was. Her cheeks were painted red, her walk wobbly from intoxication, and she had tear-streaks running down her delicate face. Judal had almost worried for her, had almost gone out to beat up that idiot Alibaba himself (or to call someone who could) but she promised that there was nothing to worry about, even as he held back her hair when she retched the liquor she couldn’t hold.

Now, he knew what had _really_ happened that night.

“I-It was stupid,” she grumbled. “But I actually kind of like it now. It’s grown on me.”

Judal nodded, perplexed and trying to understand. He’d never seen a tattoo on her before. Maybe that was why she dressed like such a prude to begin with? Judal remembered trying to get her to try one of the crop tops he always favored, but she had vehemently denied him. He couldn’t help that his curiosity was piqued. “Where is it?”

Her features colored with shame. “Don’t laugh at me, Judal.” He rolled his eyes but nodded anyways, and she began untying her apron, fingers trembling and gone red at the tips. When she set it to the side and began lifting her shirt Judal _wished he’d never asked_ but, in the end, she only lifted it to show the pale, unblemished skin of her abdomen, favoring the left side of her hip.

At least in her drunken state Kougyoku had not chosen anything _too_ ridiculous. This one suited her, though. Adorning her left hip was the silhouette of a dragon, very small and done in cerulean blue, peppered with small, pink flowers that swirled within the design. He didn’t have to look to see that her face was burning but it wasn’t bad, the tattoo. It suited her.

“Alibaba got some flaming fiery thing,” she added with a waver in her words. “I don’t remember all the details. He was really drunk, too.”

“It looks pretty, hag,” said Judal, poking it lightly with one finger; it didn’t feel any different from the rest of her skin, smooth, like glass. She quickly tugged her shirt back down when he did, looking offended. “Did it hurt?”

She shot him a withering glare. “You _saw_ how much I cried.”

“Maybe you were just being a baby.”

“You’re _way_ weaker than I am, Judal.”

Ah. That was a fair point.

But even though it would hurt (Judal would _hate_ to cry in front of Sinbad) it was something that he wanted. At least, he had been considering it. Judal didn’t want something big or flashy, just something small, something large enough to be visible but small enough to look elegant. Judal wasn’t like Sinbad, he wasn’t the type to ink his entire arm (his arms were so thin there wasn’t much room, anyways) but maybe something small would be nice.

Sinbad had mentioned many times that he thought Judal would look beautiful with a tattoo. While Judal wouldn’t compromise his own wishes for a request of Sinbad’s it was an idea that he had warmed to over time. Besides, Judal would’ve liked to get at least _one_ at some point in his life, and he trusted Sinbad more than anyone else.

“Don’t let that old man talk you into anything you don't want,” Kougyoku chided, “but if you’d really like one then I think it would look pretty on you.”

Judal snorted, brushing it off despite the warmth in his face. “You think?”

“Yeah,” she said, painted lips tugged into a smile. “Just don’t get anything too stupid.”

Judal chuckled. “Thanks,” he said with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Sinbad wasn’t there when Judal went next door to meet him. Ja’far had said that he was taking a day off, and Judal was having none of that, but after enough pestering Ja’far had given him Sinbad’s address. He could’ve just called Sinbad and asked himself, but Judal wanted it to be a surprise. That, and, it was always fun to annoy Sinbad’s freckled assistant when he wasn’t there to stop him.

Sinbad lived in the penthouse of a tall, high-end apartment building on the fringe of the city. Judal recalled Sinbad mentioning it to him once, during one of their dates, that when he was still involved in business he’d purchased the lavish suite located close enough to his workplace that he could reach it easily, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be burdened by the weight of his work on what little time he had off. Even after he’d left the corporation, Sinbad mentioned that he was too attached to his home to even consider living anywhere else.

Judal had insisted Kougyoku drive him, because with all of the trouble he’d stirred on the road his license was suspended for at _least_ another decade and Kougyoku wouldn’t let him anywhere near her spotless white convertible unless she was right there in it beside him.

After she dropped him off, Judal had made his way up to the penthouse suite. The floor itself, even though he hadn’t entered, was extravagant in and of itself, pristine and well-maintained, without a speck of dust to be seen. The floor was done in marble, the ceiling decorated with fine crown-moulding, the door with gilded edges; it was certainly suitable as the residence of a highly-successful businessman if Judal had ever seen one.

After a moment of hesitation he rapped his knuckles against the door, and even as he stepped back Judal was hardly feeling patient. Nervous anticipation sent a shiver up his spine and he knocked against the door again before he could even begin to lose his nerve.

This time, Sinbad came out almost as soon as Judal’s knuckles came back from the door. It was only seconds until realization hit his features, and Judal was faced once again with that blinding, dazzling smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Judal swallowed. “Can you give me a tattoo?”

Sinbad looked at him for a moment, silent at first, and then with a knowing smile. “You want a tattoo,” he said, less a question than a statement. Judal felt his face burn.

“Yes.”

“You said you would never want one.”

“Yeah,” Judal grumbled, looking away as the embarrassment colored his cheeks. “Well. Something changed my mind.”

Sinbad couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on in, then.”

The interior of Sinbad’s home was, while expensively furnished, not the most ridiculous of high-end bachelor pads  Judal could have imagined. He kept the lighting low, the interior done in lots of dark, rich woods, rich colors. While there were many expensive things the look of it was rather minimalistic, the counters were clear and clean and the hardwood floors looked smooth and polished. When Sinbad led him to the living room, behind the black couches and mahogany tables, was a long, wide window outlining the cityscape. Judal found himself momentarily mesmerized by it all.

“Nice place,” Judal commented idly, twirling a lock of unbound hair around his finger. “Must be expensive.”

“Judal,” Sinbad began, once they were both seated on the couch. “I don’t want you to feel… pressured into doing this, or anything. You don’t have to do it just for me.”

Judal scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, old man.” He didn’t miss the way that Sinbad winced, despite his best efforts to hide it. It made Judal smile. “I’m not nice enough to get a tattoo for someone else’s sake, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Sinbad cracked a smile, shaking his head. “No, no, not like that. I just,” he sighed, lifting a hand to brush the dark bangs back from where they fell into Judal’s eyes. “I don't want you to do something you'll regret just to please me.”

Perhaps Judal was only hallucinating but he could hear, faintly, the layered meaning in his words. “You,” he began, feeling embarrassed, “you don't have to worry about that. I just,” Judal sighed, tugging a hand through his hair. “It's something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, since I saw yours, I mean.”

From the corner of his eye, Judal saw Sinbad smiling. “You liked them, then?”

It was hard not to enjoy the sight of Sinbad without his shirt, inked or not. But it was something that Judal had enjoyed nonetheless, definitely easy on the eyes. While Judal certainly didn't want that many, one would be nice to have, just to say that he had it. Belatedly, Judal realized that Kouen would probably kill him for it, even though he had a few of his own.

“Yeah,” said Judal. “I did.”

Once the words sank in, that dazzling grin tugged back across Sinbad’s lips, and he nodded. “Alright, princess. Let me see if I have all my gear with me first.”

Judal sat as patiently as one could manage on the couch, legs swinging back and forth, restless with anticipation. Perhaps it was foolish to get something so permanent done on a whim but Judal trusted Sinbad more than anyone else with it, so he shouldn’t have been so afraid, he shouldn’t have been so nervous. But as Judal sat on his hands and swung his legs back and forth, heels clicking in the middle, he couldn’t help the way that his stomach quivered from what was yet to come.

Sinbad had already stated that he had everything that he needed here, already prepared and sanitized for those rare few trusted friends of his who he would ink in the comfort of his own home. So Judal waited as he prepared the inks and the pen, gnawing at his lip, brows drawn together.

“Do you have any idea what you’d like?”

Judal cracked a sheepish grin. “I thought I’d let you surprise me.”

“You want it to be a _surprise?”_ Sinbad’s eyebrows shot up, and now he was the only one sounding nervous. “You want me to inject permanent ink into your skin and you’re not concerned with what it looks like?”

“I have _some_ ideas,” Judal insisted, though even that was vague at best. “I want it to be small. I definitely don’t want something big and ugly. It should be tasteful and cute,” Judal decided, as if he were only thinking of it now. “And I want it on my left ankle.”

“Tattoos hurt a lot, on your ankle.”

Judal huffed. “I can take it.”

Sinbad came back around to the other side of the couch, pen in hand, tray of ink in the other. “Baby, you really don’t have to do this,” said Sinbad, gentle when he brushed back a lock of Judal’s dark hair from his eyes.

“I want to,” said Judal, still feeling numb from the way that Sinbad had whispered _baby._ “I want to do it for you.”

“For me,” Sinbad repeated, and Judal grumbled something under his breath and looked away.

“For me too,” said Judal, and Sinbad sighed, taking a seat of his own with a wry smile.

“Put your feet in my lap.”

Judal easily complied, leaning against the arm of the couch and stretching out his long, slender legs til his feet reached Sinbad’s lap. Sinbad took Judal’s left foot in one hand; it was delicate and small considering his height, nails neatly trimmed and free of calluses and scars. For a fleeting instant, Sinbad looked nervous.

“You always said that my body was the perfect canvas,” said Judal, lips quirking in a smile.

“A very beautiful canvas,” Sinbad agreed. “So forgive me if I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Judal scoffed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you sure that this is what you want, Judal?” Sinbad asked it again, but he seemed serious this time, voice lower, brow creased. “You’ve always been so proud of your flawless skin. I just want you to be sure.”

Judal swallowed again. “I’m sure. I want you to do it, Sinbad.”

Each and every time Judal dropped the silly nicknames and used Sinbad’s real name was important to him, that Judal knew. Sinbad nodded at him, and bent down to a drop a kiss upon the top of Judal’s foot. “Alright, then.”

Sinbad was painstakingly careful when he brought the pen down to the side of Judal’s ankle, fair skin wrapped taut around the slender limb. Judal heard the whirring as the needle sprung to life but nothing could have prepared him for the _agony_ when the point came down against his skin, worse than a pinprick, worse than a cat’s scratches and every other comparison he’d found when he’d searched it hours earlier.

The corners of his eyes felt wet and Judal reasoned that he was probably just being a baby, but then he heard himself make this stupid, pained sound, a quiet whimper under his bated breath, bit back by his teeth. He wished that he had something to bite onto so that the sounds wouldn’t be _quite_ so embarrassing but all he could manage to do was sit there and hope that Sinbad wouldn’t see him cry.

The pen’s whirring stopped in seconds, and Judal made a sound of protest. “Why are you stopping?” he asked, drawing a hand across his dampened face.

Sinbad flashed him a defeated smile. “I can’t bear the thought of making you cry.” Judal thought that it was a stupid thing to say. He probably had clients who cried twice as hard as Judal did under the needle, were twice as weak to its lacerations. But he had already put the pen down and it was clear that he wasn’t going to pick it up again.

“But,” said Judal, “you already started! You can’t just stop in the middle of it.” But when Judal drew in his knees to get a better look, there was nothing marring his skin save for a bit of tender redness that had made Judal nearly beg for mercy.

“I didn’t put any ink on it,” Sinbad admitted. “I wanted to see if you could handle it first.”

“But I _can_ handle it,” said Judal, sitting up straighter with renewed determination. “I was just a little tense at first. Do it for real this time.”

“Judal,” Sinbad chuckled softly to himself, and he came closer, lifting a hand to caress the side of Judal’s face, fingers dragging through the tracks of tears. “I can’t let you force yourself into doing this for my sake. As much as I’d love to paint you I could never forgive myself for forcing you to do something you weren’t comfortable with.”

Perhaps Sinbad was right. Perhaps Judal’s tears were not only from the pain under the needle but also from the ache within his chest, something that Sinbad must’ve seen right through. “But I _want_ it,” said Judal, more a whine than an actual protest, and Sinbad chuckled at him, wiping at the corner of a tear-filled carmine eye with the worn pad of his thumb. “I want to do it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sinbad assured. “I’d like you just the same no matter what you put on your skin.”

“But,” Judal felt the quiver in his lower lip, the stinging in the back of his eyes, “I _love_ you.”

Ah. _That_ had stopped Sinbad right where he was.

But then, after a moment of stupefied silence, Sinbad smiled, and he came forward and stole the quiver from Judal’s swollen lips with a kiss. Judal let out a tiny gasp at the touch but yielded easily to it, delicate face angled up when Sinbad pulled him closer, arching his back at the hand that rested against it. Sinbad didn’t have to say anything because Judal _felt it_ in this, felt the passion unrestrained behind it. Sinbad was gentle but one did not need force to show tender passion, to show love. This was more than enough.

Carefully, Sinbad tugged away, pulled back, and flashed Judal that stupid, dazzling smile that he’d fallen in love with in the first place. “I love you too,” said Sinbad. Judal was grateful for the hand kept on his lower back for he surely would’ve fallen if Sinbad hadn’t held him there.

“Really,” said Judal, a whisper, softly past his lips. Sinbad smiled, bringing up a hand to comb it through his hair.

“Really,” Sinbad echoed back, leaning in to drop a kiss to Judal’s forehead. “That’s why I can’t watch you force yourself into getting a tattoo.”

Judal went right back to his pout, plush lips pushed out in a frown as he tried _so hard_ to look angry and mean, but ended up more like a sad kitten left out in the rain. Sinbad couldn’t contain his laughter.

“I want to do something for you, though,” said Judal. “You always said I was a beautiful canvas. I wanted you to have a chance to paint me.”

There was silence for a moment, but, at this, a smile quirked at Sinbad’s lips. “Maybe I still can.”

Judal only remembered temporary tattoos from when he was a child, the silly ones with the cartoon characters that one could easily apply with paper and water. That was his first thought when Sinbad tried to explain what henna was, but when he’d voiced this belief Sinbad had only laughed and assured him that this was nothing like that.

“No,” said Sinbad, still chuckling to himself despite Judal’s raging blush. “Don’t worry, henna is a lot different from that.”

Sinbad had told him that the paste would leave a tattoo, but the marks would only last a few weeks and wouldn’t hurt at all. Judal, with his embarrassingly low pain tolerance, was hesitant to believe him, but intrigued nonetheless.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Judal asked, watching as Sinbad searched for the paste in his cabinet. He said that he had taken it out from the freezer earlier in the day for something else, so it should’ve been thawed, but now he had misplaced it. Judal didn’t mind waiting, though. His ankle still stung from the needles, even though there was no mark, and he was more than happy for the opportunity to let the stinging wear off.

“Ah.” Sinbad seemed a bit embarrassed. “My mother used to do henna to make extra money. I mostly learned from watching her.”

Judal nodded, slowly. “Is that why you got so into tattoos?”

Sinbad paused his search for a moment, and then chuckled, mostly to himself, but loud enough that Judal could still hear him. “Yeah,” said Sinbad. “I guess it is.”

With a cry of triumph, Sinbad finally found what he was looking for: a sealed container filled with a brownish paste. Judal wrinkled his nose at it.

“It looks gross.”

“Don’t worry,” Sinbad smiled, and Judal felt momentary embarrassment from his lack of tact in saying so. “It will look pretty once we put it on.”

Sinbad took a seat back beside Judal, and Judal retreated to the edge of the seat, far enough away that when he stretched, his long, pale legs would be lying across Sinbad’s lap.

“Now, what would you like?”

Judal cracked a smile. “Surprise me.”

Sinbad took to both of Judal’s feet, this time. The process was mesmerizing, detailed and precise, but Judal tried not to look as much as he could, for he really wanted it to be a surprise, as requested. He just hoped that Sinbad wouldn’t be an idiot and cover him in profanities, or something, but whenever Judal caught a glimpse of him working, Sinbad was incredibly careful, incredibly detailed, painstakingly so.

It really didn’t hurt; Sinbad was right to say so. It was certainly nothing like the pen from before, Judal felt heat rushing to his face when he remembered how he had cried. But this was nice, soothing even, very cathartic. Judal couldn’t help but laugh when Sinbad passed the cone underneath his foot, feeling the way it tickled the sole of it.

“Ticklish, huh?” asked Sinbad, smiling. “I’ll have to remember that for later.”

Judal grumbled something about how Sinbad was a stupid old man, and he merely laughed as he got back to work.

The process was slow. Probably because Sinbad was taking his time with the details, but Judal grew bored, after a while. Once Sinbad had finished his work on Judal’s legs (he felt the paste winding all the way up his milky calves) he gestured for Judal’s hands next, and although Judal groaned at the thought of more _boredom_ he easily complied, slipping his hand into Sinbad’s and feeling the heat of his own face when Sinbad dropped a kiss to the top of his hand.

As Sinbad worked with the intricate swirls upon Judal’s delicate fingers, he entertained himself by pressing slow kisses to Sinbad’s neck, gentle, so not to jerk him too much, but the heat was still there beneath his lips, and Sinbad responded with an appropriate moan of pleasure.

“You’re gonna make me smudge it, Ju,” said Sinbad between breaths, and Judal’s smile was there in his kisses.

“It wouldn’t be any fun if it were easy,” Judal laughed under his breath, but, gradually, his kisses lessened in their intensity until they were slow and sweet, gentle as they skimmed across the ink of Sinbad’s shoulders, of the side of his neck. Sinbad worked dutifully still, in spite of the way Judal’s lips were treating him. It was certainly a commendable effort.

“Almost done,” Sinbad murmured after a while, and it was his turn to press a kiss against Judal’s cheek, pale and soft under his lips. “Just sit tight for a little longer, baby.”

There it was again. _Baby._ Judal loved the sound of it, he would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for Sinbad if he so wished it but only if he crooned that honey-sweet word for him. _Baby._ Judal would never grow tired of hearing it.

Sinbad worked for a while longer, held Judal’s hand carefully as he did, and Judal could feel the calluses of his fingers against the smooth, milky skin of his forearms. If Sinbad would lavish him like this with his touch every time Judal asked for a tattoo, then Judal resolved to do it more often.

“Alright,” said Sinbad finally, leaning back to admire his work. “You still have to take the paste off later, but for now, it’s done.”

Judal held out his hand to study it, flexing his fingers, studying the markings. His eyes grew in size as he did. “These are beautiful,” said Judal, voice lowered in his state of awed reverie. Sinbad was good at everything but this was something that he particularly excelled at. The patterns were intricate, delicate and precise as they swirled around his fingers and hands, up his forearms, and perhaps best of all, blossomed in an array of flowers as they traveled up his wrist. His feet were done much the same, all of the detail nearest his toes, with flowers that blossomed up his legs in a dark, red hue.

“I’m glad you like them,” said Sinbad, smiling at Judal’s expression, which surely must’ve resembled childlike wonder. “I can only hope that I’ve done justice to someone as lovely as you.”

Judal rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning, pink lips pulled back to reveal a neat row of white teeth. “Well, I certainly think that you have,” he assured. Sinbad smiled back at him.

“Now,” said Sinbad, “you’ll have to leave all of the paste on for at least a few hours, alright?”

Judal frowned. “But you painted the soles of my feet,” he complained. “How am I supposed to get anywhere like that?”

Perhaps this had been Sinbad’s scheme all along, for that was when he stood, sweeping Judal up into his arms as though he had never weighed a thing. Judal made an embarrassing sound when Sinbad took him up into his arms but as he wrapped his arms around the man’s strong neck, Judal decided that he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

“Shall I take you to my car, princess?” Sinbad asked, grinning down at the man in his arms, who stuck his tongue out in return. “It’s getting late, I can drive you home.”

Judal laid there in silence for a moment, debating the question, when he finally shook his head. “No,” said Judal. “Don’t take me home yet.”

Sinbad shot him a look. “Then--?”

“Take me,” said Judal, blinking long eyelashes up at him, “to your bed.”

Sinbad was powerless to those long eyelashes but he looked at Judal with wide eyes nonetheless, perplexed at what was being asked of him. “Are you sure?”

Judal bumped him in the chest; he would've hit him, but Judal didn't want to ruin the pretty paint on his hands. “I don't want to do anything… strenuous,” said Judal, under his breath. “Nothing that could ruin the henna.”

“Of course,” said Sinbad, features easing into a knowing smile. “Nothing like that.”

“But I’d like to lay with you for a while,” said Judal, “if that's alright.”

Carefully, Sinbad hoisted Judal higher up into his arms, eyes sparkling with mirth when he weakly protested. “That's perfectly alright with me.”

Sinbad carried Judal down the hall to his bedroom, and Judal all the while could only bury his face in Sinbad’s chest and grumble about what a stupid man he’d fallen in love with. Still, listening to the drum of Sinbad’s beating heart was almost worth the trouble.

Sinbad’s bedroom was less extravagant compared to the rest of his home but it was by no means simple. The hardwood floors and the wood-frame bed were rich and dark and plush pillows were set upon the mattress, covers a dark purple edged with fine strands of gold. There was a balcony overlooking the city to the far side, bordered by glass doors, and Judal turned his head to look out as they passed. He might've asked Sinbad to go out, if only it weren't raining again.

The one particularly extravagant feature of his bedroom were the long, sheer draperies that shrouded the bed, which seemed fit almost for royalty. Judal wouldn’t have been surprised if it were. Sinbad swept aside the curtains and laid Judal carefully out on it, careful not to smudge the writing on his arms, before he came around the other side to meet him.

Judal kissed him once they were lying together. Sinbad held him in his arms as he did, combing his fingers through the long, loose hair, a touch that Judal was powerless to resist. Judal felt Sinbad carding the fingers through his hair, felt the kisses, felt the warmth beneath his touch, and that was all Judal knew as he laid there and drifted, slowly, into blissful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> judal is a baby also theres one chapter left i think


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter is really really short but i hope you all enjoy anyways !!

Judal could not remember a time when he had risen in a bed that was not his own, and the thought should have alarmed him but there was something incredibly natural about where he laid now, buried beneath the warmth of plush sheets, nestled at the warmth of Sinbad’s side. 

Ah, he had almost forgotten about that.  _ Sinbad. _

Judal had never fallen asleep beside another but he had certainly not anticipated for  _ Sinbad  _ to be the first. While all they’d done was kiss and hold one another it was still greater intimacy than Judal had ever known. But he couldn’t say that he didn’t like it. 

It was not often that Judal woke up this early but he could still see the morning light filtering in through the windows, even as Sinbad dozed peacefully beside him. He looked different, in sleep. When he was awake he was always confident and in control but now he looked peaceful, somehow less dangerous, calm and quiet beneath the sheets. His features--still handsome, no matter whether he was awake or asleep--were easy and relaxed; serene. 

It was somehow easier to look at Sinbad without the piercing glow of his golden eyes but that glow was something that Judal had grown to love, so he leaned down to drop a kiss against Sinbad’s forehead, brushing back long, violet hair as he did.

Sinbad stirred at the feeling, moaning protests softly under his breath, as though fearing it was the alarm clock that forced him to rise. But Judal’s fingers in his hair did not relent, and Sinbad, slowly, opened his eyes. When he did, the smile spread effortlessly across his lips.

“Good morning, beautiful,” said Sinbad, whispered into the expanse between them. He angled his face upwards so that he could press a kiss to Judal’s lips hovering above, and wrapped an arm around his waist to tug him gently back into Sinbad’s arms. Judal let out only a long sigh in response.

“Good morning, idiot,” he said, just as softly, and while the word was a harsh one Sinbad knew it was only an endearment. Judal could hear the laugh reverberating in Sinbad’s chest as he tugged Judal closer, forcing the smaller man to bury his face into the warmth, breathing in the aroma of musk and spices. It was a pleasant thing to wake up to.

Sinbad’s arm was heavy over Judal’s waist but he didn’t really mind, it was a touch that Judal welcomed nonetheless. “Did you sleep well?”

Judal cracked a smile. “I guess. It's kind of hard to sleep when you're rolling on me all night, but, you know.”

Golden eyes, shining like the sun through the veil of the curtains, softened back at him. “Ah, I’m sorry, baby.” God, Sinbad was really out for his life now. Judal closed his eyes as Sinbad pressed a kiss to the top of his hair, playing fingers carefully through the strands. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

“That's alright,” said Judal after a moment, wrapping his arms around Sinbad’s neck with a sigh as he came closer. “I didn’t really mind.”

Judal didn't have to look to see Sinbad’s smile. “Good,” he said, brushing Judal’s hair so that he purred into the touch, needy and catlike in his arms. “I’m glad.”

“We should do this more often.” Judal didn't realize the implications of his words and he didn't particularly care, but then Sinbad smiled at him and kissed the temple of his forehead and all was right in the world.

“We should,” said Sinbad. “Maybe next time you let me paint you. Which reminds me,” Sinbad took Judal’s hand from around his neck, delicate and pale but for the red paste that wound about his fingers. “I almost forgot about this.”

“Ooh,” said Judal, eyes wide with awe as Sinbad held out his hand, showing Judal the dried paste. “How do I take it off?”

“Let me.” Sinbad rubbed gently at the dried paste, not all of it, for the mess would've been terrible, but only what was around his hand and wrist, showing Judal the dark stain beneath it.

Judal made a sound, eyes gone wide with delight. “It’s beautiful.”

Sinbad smirked. “Just like you.”

Despite how the words warmed him, Judal groaned and pushed Sinbad’s face away, felt the warmth beneath his painted hand as Sinbad laughed. “I mean it,” he said again, and when Judal finally, grudgingly relented, Sinbad came right back, smiling at Judal with warmth in his eyes that rivaled the light of the sun. “You’re beautiful, Judal.”

Judal never knew what to say, when Sinbad told him that. Should he have told Sinbad that he was beautiful too? Or perhaps that he loved him? Both were true but Judal did not think that his already trembling heart could bear the weight of such words, so, instead, he leaned up and met Sinbad’s lips with a kiss, one that he hoped would instill all of these thoughts within him upon the man he loved.

Perhaps in a few hours, when Judal went back with Kougyoku, he’d tell her that he wanted to keep the job at her flower shop. Or maybe he would just keep working and tell her nothing of the sort, so that she’d never get the chance to tell him that she was right and he was wrong. But Judal didn't hate the job anymore, not when he had Sinbad to kiss him every morning when he arrived, to tell him to be safe each night when he left. It wasn't the worst way to spend a day, for sure, and besides. Judal kind of liked the flowers after all.

But that could all come later. For now, Judal was perfectly content where he was, with Sinbad’s arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss, and hearts beating together as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a ton of fun writing this, i was so glad to be a part of the big bang !! thank you all so much for reading, and thank you to my assigned artists alibwabwa and maumauxmau on tumblr !! i hope you all enjoyed !!


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